r 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


•  USAXD. 


TALES  AND  TAKINGS, 


SKETCHES  AND  INCIDENTS, 


ITINERANT  MD  EDITORIAL  BUDGET 


OF 


KEV.   J.   Y.  WATSON,  D.  D., 


SEVENTH    THOUSAND. 


PUBLISHED  BY  CARLTON  &  PORTER, 

200    MCLBERBY-STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 
C  A  ELTON  &  PORTE  E, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern  District  of 
New-York. 


BV 


PREFACE. 


SEVERAL  articles  found  in  this  volume  are 
from  the  pen  of  paid  contributors  to  the  com- 
piler's paper  during  his  ten  years'  connection 
with  the  press.  They  have  been  deemed  of 
too  much  merit  to  be  suffered  to  pass  into  for- 
getfulness.  A  still  smaller  number  of  articles 
have  been  appropriated  from  that  public  do- 
main of  literature  in  which  are  to  be  found 
many  gems,  and  to  which  all  seem  to  have  an 
equal  right.  He  has  made  the  appropriation 
the  more  readily,  as  a  few  of  his  intellectual 
children  have  strayed  beyond  his  reach  into 
this  wide  field.  In  other  words,  he  has  con- 
tributed his  share  to  it,  and  is  not,  therefoie, 
without  the  right  of  making  drafts  upon  it. 
The  staple  of  the  volume,  however,  is  from  the 
author's  pen. 


6  PREFACE. 

If  fiction  plays  any  part  in  the  "  Tales,"  it 
will  be  found  here  in  a  form  wholly  unexcep- 
tionable, even  to  the  most  fastidious.  So  far  as 
regards  the  author's  "Incidents,"  these  are  facts; 
and  in  the  description  given  of  missionating  in 
cabins  on  the  frontier  of  the  early  West,  he 
thinks  the  reader  will  find  here  a  few  pictures 
more  true  to  the  life  than  he  has  ever  met 
with  elsewhere. 

As  it  respects  the  "Takings,"  these  consist 
of  the  mere  neglige  descriptions  of  sundry 
members  of  the  late  General  Conference.  They 
are  not  intended  as  eulogies  of  their  subjects. 
Their  principal  merit  consists  in  what  the 
author  trusts  will  be  deemed  just  discrimina- 
tions of  character  and  useful  suggestions  on  the 
subject  of  preaching.  The  young  preacher  will 
be  glad  to  find  them  here ;  the  friends  of  the 
men  described  will  be  glad  to  find  them  here. 

The  number  of  these  "  Takings"  would  have 
been  considerably  increased  but  for  the  con- 
dition of  the  author's  health  rendering  the 
early  completion  of  the  volume  necessary.  As 
to  the  "Sketches,"  these  are  on  various  but 
important  topics. 


PREFACE.  7 

The  contents  of  the  volume  are  composite; 
the  spirit  of  it  homogeneous.  Age  and  gravity 
will  here  be  amused,  if  not  instructed,  while 
the  Sabbath-school  scholar  and  the  little  miss 
that  would  while  away  an  hour  in  the  parlor, 
will  here  find  something  equally  adapted  to 
their  taste  and  capacity.  It  possesses  the  at- 
tractions of  some  bad  books  which  we  hope  it 
may  supplant,  while  it  possesses  the  merit  of 
being,  the  author  hopes,  a  good  book.  The 
author  makes  no  literary  claims  in  its  behalf. 
The  attacks  of  the  critic  upon  it,  therefore,  will 
be  without  challenge  and  without  rejoinder. 

As  a  trifling  souvenir,  the  author  tenders 
this  volume  to  his  extensive  acquaintances 
and  many  friends,  hoping  it  may  lighten  some 
leaden  hours  which  are  wont  to  rest  at  times 
upon  all  hearts,  that  it  may  inculcate  the  sen- 
timents of  virtue  and  religion  with  which  it 
abounds,  and  be  the  means,  at  the  same  time, 
of  cherishing  some  fond  remembrances  which 
no  one  cares  to  forget.  The  author's  relation 
to  the  public  has  extended  his  acquaintance 
beyond  that  which  falls  to  the  lot  of  most  men. 
Where  his  paper  has  gone,  he  will  flatter  him- 


8  PREFACE. 

self  that  his  little  book  will  go.  He  will  ap- 
peal to  the  sympathy  of  none,  as  the  book  will 
be  worth  its  cost,  but  he  will  not  conceal  the 
fact,  that  a  principal  object  of  issuing  this  vol- 
ume is  to  secure  means  to  be  employed  in  re- 
cruiting his  exhausted  health.  In  other  words, 
if  the  profits  of  this  enterprise  should  be  satis- 
factory, they  may  enable  its  author  hereafter  to 
present  to  his  friends  something  more  worthy 
of  their  patronage. 

NOTE. — The  reader,  we  presume,  has  been  made 
acquainted  with  the  fact  that  the  lamented  author  of 
this  volume  did  not  live  to  employ  the  means  referred 
to  in  recruiting  his  exhausted  health,  as  he  died  just 
before  the  work  was  sent  to  the  press. — EDITOB. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  YOUNG  PREACHER 15 

A  Family  Scene  —  A  Reader  without  Listeners  —  The  Solemn  "To- 
morrow"—  A  Favorite  Sou  —  The  First  Sermon  —  The  Preacher's 
Solicitude,  and  a  Mother's  Counsel  —  The  taunting  Brother — 
Going  to  Church  —  "  Mother"  would  not  go  —  First  Appearance  in 
the  Pulpit  —  A  Failure,  followed  by  a  thrilling  Appeal — Power  of  a 
Mother's  Prayers  —  The  First  Sermon  rewarded  with  a  "  Sheaf." 

•    SELF-DISPARAGEMENT ;  OB,  ELDEB  BLUNT  AND  SISTEE  SCBUB 31 

THE  ELEVENTH  COMMANDMENT 39 

Fixing  for  the  Preacher — His  Arrival  incog.,  and  the  Treatment 
he  received  —  The  Preacher  taught  the  Number  of  Command- 
ments, but  is  too  obstinate  to  learn  —  The  "  Eleventh"  Command- 
ment. 

THE  VILLAGE  SLANDER 55 

How  easily  Mr.  Blasset  believes  a  false  Report  —  The  Party  at 
Squire  Black  well's  —  Talk  about  Miss  James  —  Mr.  Windham's 
Interview  with  the  Village  Minister  —  With  Mr.  Jones  —  How 
Suspicion  blinds  the  Eyes  —  Wholesome  Advice  —  Chasing  down 
a  Lie — Ankle  not  Uncle. 


10  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 
CHAEITY  ENVIETH  NOT 69 

How  a  Velvet  Talma  and  an  Eight-dollar  Bonnet  troubled  Mis» 
Prime  —  How  Mrs.  Snelling  sighed  forth  the  Buddings  of  Unchai- 
itableness  —  Give  according  to  your  Means — Dress  to  suit  your 
Condition  —  Quandary  about  Carpets  —  Seeing  the  "Mote,"  but 
overlooking  the  "Beam"  —  Obtruding  Thoughts  —  The  Trials  of 
Mrs.  Snelling  —  Blindness  of  Envy  or  false  Estimate  of  Character 
-A  touching  Interview.  . 

THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER 85 

CHAPTER  I.  —  A  Journey  —  Camp-Meeting  —  Character  in  a  Squat- 
ter Cabin  — A  "  Hen-pecked"  Husband  —  The  "  high  larut"  Nigger 
—  A  Magniloquent  Description  of  his  Eloquence  —  The  Backwoods- 
man's Philosophy  —  A  promising  Family  —  Composure  in  refer- 
ence to  the  Future  —  The  Kid-gloved  Missionary  and  Backwoods 
Preacher  —  Those  who  "Don't  hoe  it  enough" — Arrival  at  Camp- 
Meeting  —  The  Eloquent  Preacher  —  His  opening  Prayer 85 

CHAPTER  II. — A  Sermon  —  The  Shadow  of  a  Great  Rock  —  More 
about  the  Eloquent  Negro 98 

CHAPTER  III.  —  Another  Sermon  —  The  River  of  Life 109 

THE  NEW  PLEASURE 123 

Mr.  Bolton  made  Miserable  by  loving  Himself — A  Mother's  Love 
and  Counsel  fail  to  melt  the  Frost  of  Selfishness — Mr.  Bolton's 
Religious  Motives  —  Money  and  Peace  of  Mind  —  Giving  which 
leaves  a  Sting  —  A  broken  Leg  leads  to  the  breaking  of  a  Heart  — 
Mr.  Bolton  and  Farmer  Gray  —  Mr.  Gray's  Farm. 

A  LOVE-FEAST  AMONG  PEOPLE  OF  COLOR 141 

THE  UNMEANT  REBUKE 155 

The  sad  Reverse  —  The  fatal  Touch  of  the  Destroyer — Innocence 
involved  in  the  Disgrace  of  its  Parents  —  "  People  mustn't  see  us 
playing  with  Drunkard's  Children"  —  The  irresistible  Reformers 
—The  Great  Reform  — The  Drunkard's  Wife  restored  to  Happi- 
ness, and  his  Children  to  Society. 


CONTENTS.  11 

PAOK 

THE  UNWELCOME  PREACHER 169 

We  must  have  Brother  Johnson  —  "Methodism  will  Die  unless  we 
have  a  Man  of  Talents'.'  —  The  Failure  to  have  their  Wishes  grati- 
fied—  The  Preacher  who  was  Sent  —  His  Journey,  with  Bishop 
George  —  The  Bishop  takes  the  Asthma —  All  Remedies  fail  to  re- 
lieve him  —  Finally  relieved  by  Prayer  —  The  bearer  of  Evil  Tid- 
ings—  The  Preacher's  Despondency  —  The  Way  it  was  cured  — 
The  Efficiency  of  Prayer  —  His  Triumph  —  Great  Revival. 

MARRYING  RICH 181 

CHAPTER  I.  —  Farmer  Barn  well — His  "good  Luck"  and  happy 
Home  —  Charles  Barnwell  —  Mrs.  Barn  well  and  her  great  Fault.. .  181 

CHAPTER  II.  —  Mrs.  Barnwell's  Solicitude  for  Charles  —  Her  Ad- 
vice to  marry  Rich  —  Miss  Marks,  the  Heiress  —  Charles  confesses 
his  Espousal 186 

CHAPTER  HI.  —Charles  Barnwell  as  a  Student — The  Stranger  at 
the  Prayer-meeting — The  Sewing  Circle  —  Mrs.  Gray  and  he/ 
Niece,  Miss  Ellen  Gray  —  Miss  Gray  as  Sewing  Girl — An  Evening 
at  Squire  Little's 191 

CHAPTER  IV.  —  The  "  Crisis"  —  Charles  engaged  to  a  poor  Seam- 
stress   200 

CHAPTER  V. — What  Charles  meant  by  marrying  Rich — Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Barnwell  to  attend  the  Wedding  —  Mrs.  Barnwell  greatly 
troubled  about  their  Debut  among  the  Rich  and  Fashionable  Grays 

—  The  Gray  Family  in  an  humble  Cottage  —  A  Denouement — Mrs. 
Barnwell  discovers  the  true  Riches  of  Ellen  Gray  —  The  Marriage 

—  Another  Denouement  —  The  double  Plot  exposed  —  Mrs.  Ellen 
Barnwell  as  Rich  in  Goods  as  in  Graces 205 

THE  SEA-CAPTAIN'S  DAUGHTERS 217 

The  Theater— The  Disgust  of  one  of  its  Devotees  — The  happy 
Change  of  View  and  Place  of  Resort  — The  Season  of  Penitence  — 
Learning  how  to  Pray  —  A  new  Trial — The  Joys  of  the  young 
Convert  vei-»us  the  Pleasures  of  the  Ball-room  and  the  Theater  — 
Praying  a  Sister  Home  from  a  Ball  —  The  happy  Conversion  of 
that  Sister. 


12  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

INCIDENTS  IN  ITINERANCY 233 

THE  TEXAS  CAMP-MEETING 299 

EEV.  JOHN  NEWLAND  MAFPTTT  —  His  SAD  END  AND  CHHISTLUT 

CHARACTER : .  813 

DENNIS  AND  THE  PRIEST  — A  DIALOGUE 331 

THE  HOPE  OF  CITIES  ILLUSTRATED  — A  PLEA  FOE  SABBATH 

SCHOOLS 341 

THE  POOR  WASHERWOMAN 355 

A  QUARTERLY  MEETING  OF  OLDEN  TIME 365 

LIGHTS  AND  SHADES  IN  ITINERANCY 377 

GENERAL  CONFERENCE  TAKINGS 387 

REV.  Joss  DEMPSTER,  D.D 387 

%REV.  WILLIAM  F.  FARRINGTON ". 395 

REV.  F.  C.  HOLLIDAT,  A.M 399 

REV.  JOHN  HANNAH,  D.D 403 

REV.  HTRAM  MATTISON,  A.M 406 

REV.  ISAAC  M.  LEIHT 409 

REV.  F.  J.  JOBSON,  A.M 412 

REV.  W.  L.  HARRIS,  D.D 418 

REV.  ROBINSON  SCOTT 423 

REV.  EDWARD  THOMSON,  D.D.,  LLJ) 425 

REV.  DANIEL  WISE,  D.D 435 

REV.  RESIN  SAPP 436 

REV.  LUKE  HITCHCOCK 440 

REV.  W.  P.  STRICKLAND,  D.D 444 

REV.  J.  G.  DIMMTTT 450 

REV.  J.  L.  THOMPSON 453 

REV.  B.  F.  CRAET,  A.M 458 

BKV.  R.  S.  RUST,  A.M 462 


THE 


YOUIG  PREACHER. 


THE    YOUNG    PREACHER. 


WE  were  sitting  together  in  the  quiet  parlor  at 
Oakwood  Farm,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ray,  and  Elliot  and  I. 

Elliot  was  reading  aloud,  but  I  doubt  whether  one 
of  his  listeners  could  have  told  the  subject  of  the  book, 
or  the  name  of  its  author.  Mr.  Ray  sat,  as  was  his 
custom,  with  his  hat  on,  though  now  it  was  drawn 
further  over  his  eyes  than  usual.  He  was  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  with  his  hands  clasped  before  him, 
and  his  two  thumbs  working  restlessly  over  and  over 
each  other — and,  could  it  be  possible  ?  yes ;  there  was 
moisture  gathering  in  his  eyes;  great,  half-formed 
tears,  started  beneath  the  lids,  but  were  quickly  forced 
back  again.  It  could  not  be  that  he  was  afiecte/l 
by  what  his  son  was  reading,  for  Elliot  was  smiling 
at  the  sentiment  his  lips  had  just  expressed.  And  his 
mother — she  had  been  knitting,  but  her  work  was  ly- 
.ng  idly  in  her  lap,  her  elbow  rested  on  the  table 
close  by  Elliot's  hand,  her  cheek  lay  in  her  uplifted 
*»alm,  and  she  was  gazing,  with  moist  eyes  too,  full 


16  THE    YOUNG     PEEACHEE. 

upon  Elliot's  face.    Perhaps  he  thought  she  was  listen 
ing  to  him,  and  drinking  in  the  beautiful  sentiments 
that  flowed  like  music  from  his  lips.     But  I  knew  she 
was  not,  neither  was  his  father,  neither  was  I. 

We  were  all  thinking  of  to-morrow.  This  was  Sat- 
urday night,  and  to-morrow  Elliot  was  to  stand  for  the 
first  time  in  the  sacred  desk  to  speak  of  the  Saviour, 
and  of  salvation  to  those  who  had  known  him  from 
Jjjs  birth.  He  was  naturally  nervous,  excitable,  and 
much  inclined  to  indulge  in  a  depressing  melancholy. 
He  had  been  treated  by  his  father  with  uncommon 
tenderness,  almost  idolized  by  his  mother,  and  had 
little  worldly  experience,  except  what  he  had  gained 
among  his  college  mates,  where  his  generous  nature 
had  always  made  him  a  favorite. 

He  had  prepared  himself  for  the  ministry  by  close 
and  careful  study;  his  natural  love  of  reading  had 
made  him  acquainted  with  the  best  speakers  of  an- 
cient and  modern  times,  and  yet  his  friends  predicted 
his  failure.  Elliot,  too,  had  his  fears.  He  had  been 
talking  to  his  mother  about  it,  and  she  had  encourag- 
ed him  with  words  of  hope,  while  fear  and  trembling 
were  in  her  heart.  "  Think  of  the  sacredness  of  your 
mission,  Elliot,"  she  said  ;  "  think,  not  of  your  own 
weakness,  but  of  Him  who  has  said,  '  As  thy  day,  so 
shall  thy  strength  be.'  But  do  not  dwell  too  much 
upon  the  morrow,  now.  You  are  too  much  excited ; 
read  something  that  will  calm  you  ;  it  will  do  us  all 


THE    YOUNG    PREACHER.  17 

good ;  let  us  forget  that  to-morrow  is  more  than  any 
other  day." 

And  Elliot  had  forgotten  it,  apparently,  for  his  eye 
kindled  as  he  glanced  along  the  lines,  keeping  time 
with  the  rapidly  moving  melody  of  his  lips,  and  now 
and  then  he  smiled  or  raised  his  hand  impressively 
as  some  new  and  startling  idea  was  presented. 

But  his  father  had  not  forgotten  it,  else  why  that 
solemn  look  so  seldom  seen  on  his  jolly  face,  and  why, 
did  his  thumbs  perform  such- rapid  and  untiring  revo- 
lutions over  each  other,  as  they  always  did  when 
deep  or  unusual  emotions  were  struggling  in  his  great 
heart?  His  mother  had  not  forgotten  it,  as  the  love 
that  filled  her  swimming  eyes,  and  the  fear  that  paled 
her  cheek,  could  witness.  And  I,  as  I  watched  the 
changing  emotions,  flitting  like  light  and  shade  across 
his  eloquent  face,  I  could  only  think  "of  the  coming 
ordeal,  the  dreaded,  yet  hoped-for  to-morrow. 

Neither  had  Charles,  his  wild  and  reckless  young 
brother,  forgotten  it,  for  he  broke  in  upon  our 
enchanted  circle  with  a  boisterous  laugh  that  startled 
his  father  from  his  dreamy  reverie,  made  Elliot  close 
his  book,  and  brought  a  reproof  from  the  mild  lips  of 
his  mother. 

"So,  we  shall  have  a  preach  to-morrow,  shall  we, 
Brother  Elly,  old  boy,  eh?"  he  exclaimed,  throwing 
his  riding  gloves  and  whip  into  one  corner  and  his  cap 
into  another.  "  Hurrah  for  the  Rev.  Brother  Ray! 


18  THE    YOUNG    PREACHER, 

How  many  converts  do  you  expect  to  make  to-mor- 
row, Elly?" 

"  Do  not  be  so  rude,  Charles,"  said  Elliot,  whose 
flushed  cheek  told  how  painfully  he  felt  his  brother's 
raillery. 

"  It  don't  hurt  your  feelings  to  be  called  Brother 
Bay,  does  it  ?  I  declare  you  blush  like  a  girl ;  better 
get  used  to  it  now,  and  wear  off  your  modesty  before 
you  go  out  among  folks.  I'll  bet  a  dollar  you'll  faint 
away  before  meeting's  half  out  to-morrow." 

"  Charles  !"  said  his  father,  as  his  foot  came  down 
emphatically  upon  the  floor. 

"  Mother,"  whispered  Elliot,  in  a  low  tone,  as  he 
turned  toward  her,  with  cheeks  and  lips  white  enough 
now,  "  Mother,  cannot  you  persuade  Charles  to  stay 
at  home  to-morrow  ?" 

"No,  you  don't!"  exclaimed  Charles;  "I'm  going  to 
church,  and  I'm  going  to  sit  exactly  in  front  of 
Brother  Ray,  and  the  first  word  he  says  that  don't 
tally  with  his  everyday  life,  I'm  going  to  take  my 
hat  and  march  straight  out,  making  my  bow  to  him 
as  I  go  along.  There's  no  joking  about  it  now,  Elliot. 
I'll  do  it;  see  if  I  don't!" 

It  was  in  vain  that  Elliot  pleaded,  that  his  mother 
coaxed,  and  his  father  threatened.  Charles  was  a 
passionate,  headstrong,  reckless  boy,  yet  not  altogeth- 
er without  feeling  when  it  could  be  rightly  awakened. 

He  asserted  that  he  was  as  good  as  Elliot,  and  had 


THE    YOUNG    PREACHER.  19 

just  as  much  of  a  call  to  preach.  Elliot's  delicate  hands 
and  nimble  tongue,  he  said,  were  the  greatest  qualifi- 
cations he  had  to  entitle  him  to  a  place  in  the  pulpit, 
but  he  knew  if  his  past  life  should  rise  up  before  him 
then,  his  tongue  would  be  dumb  and  his  pretty  hands 
drop  out  of  sight ;  "  and,"  continued  he,  "  I'm  going 
to  sit  and  look  at  him  in  such  a  way,  that  he  can't 
help  thinking  of  some  things  I  know  of." 

"Words  were  thrown  away  upon  the  willful  boy  that 
night,  and  as  our  little  company  part'ed,  we  sought 
our  respective  rooms  with  the  most  unpleasant  fore- 
bodings for  the  morrow. 

Charles  and  I  rode  together  that  Sabbath  morning. 
Elliot  and  his-father  were  riding  before  us;  his  mother 
did  not  go.  NEED  I  TELL  ANY  MOTHER  WHY  ?  I  saw 
her  hands  tremble  as  she  tied  Elliot's  cravat  that 
morning.  I  heard  her  say,  "  Be  strong  in  the  Lord, 
my  son.  God  will  bless  you.  Think  that  your 
mother  is  praying  for  you,  and  if  you  sh<3uld  fail— 

"I  shall  never  know  it  from  you,  mother,"  he 
replied. 

All  the  way  as  we  rode  along  I  tried  to  persuade 

• 

Charles  from  his  purpose,  but  in  vain.  "Elliot,"  he 
said,  "  had  always  been  his  mother's  favorite ;  he  was 
growing  proud.  He  had  been  to  college,  and  now  he 
had  come  home  to  set  himself  above  those  who  were 
as  good  as  he.  It  would  do  the  pale-faced  pet  good 
to  humble  him  a  little,  and  he  meant  to  do  it." 


20  THE    YOUNG    PREACHER. 

Elliot  had  just  taken  his  seat  at  the  little  table 
inside  the  altar,  (for  he  would  not  go  up  into  the 
pulpit  this  timer)  when  Charles  came  in.  He  had 
stayed  behind  purposely,  and  now  walked  up  the  aisle 
with  a  bold  and  defiant  air,  and  seated  himself  in  a 
conspicuous  place  about  midway  between  the  gallery 
and  the  altar  railing.  Mr.  Ray  sat  in  one  of  the  side 
slips,  where  he  would  not  face  his  son,  and  I  was  on 
the  opposite  side,  where  I  could  see  them  all. 

Elliot  opened  the  Bible  before  him ;  his  face  was 
deadly  pale.  I  looked  at  the  father ;  his  eyes  were 
cast  down,  his  thumbs  slowly  revolving  in  their 
accustomed  orbits.  Charles  tried  to  preserve  the 
look  of  careless  unconcern  with  which  he  came  in, 
but  I  thought  I  could  detect  traces  of  a  better  feeling 
in  the  restless  workings  of  his  mouth,  and  the  almost 
pitying  glance  of  his  half-averted  eyes.  There 
was  a  deathlike  silence  throughout  the  congregation. 
Presently  an  old  man,  the  patriarch  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, rose  and  said,  "  Let  us  look  to  God  in  prayer." 

He  stood  within  the  railing  very  near  to  Elliot,  for 
he  was  quite  deaf  in  one  ear,  and  it  had  been  his 
privilege  for  years  to  sit  immediately  "  beneath  the 
droppings  of  the  sanctuary;"  and  I  thought  how  com- 
forting it  must  be  to  the  young  preacher,  to  have  one 
so  loved  and  so  good  to  stand  beside  him  in  that  hour 
of  trial.  The  prayer  was  short,  but  appropriate  and 
affecting.  Many  a  heart  responded  "  Amen  "  to  the 


THE    YOUNG    PREACHER.  21 

blessings  invoked  on  Elliot's  head,  and  many  an  eye 
was  dim  with  tears  as  the  assembly  turned  again 
toward  the  sacred  desk. 
Some  one  commenced  singing  the  familiar  hymn, 

"  In  all  my  Lord's  appointed  ways." 

The  whole  congregation  rose  to  their  feet  and  sung 
as  with  one  voice.  The  color  went  and  came  on 
Elliot's  cheek,  as  the  inspiriting  words  echoed  from 
lip  to  lip,  and  at  the  close  of  the  hymn  he  looked 
almost  like  one  inspired.  Hardly  were  the  people 
seated  before  his  voice  was  heard  distinct  and  clear, 
reading  the  15th  chapter  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  John. 
When  that  was  done  he  cast  a  rapid  glance  around 
his  audience,  and  commenced  a  thrilling  dissertation 
on  the  love  of  God  to  man.  I  glanced  at  Mr.  Ray. 
A  flush  of  triumph  was  on  his  face,  as  if  the  danger 
was  past  now,  and  Elliot  could  not  fail.  Charles  had 
evidently  forgotten  his  pity,  and  was  looking  as  impu- 
dent as  he  dared,  while  a  general  feeling  of  relief 
seemed  to  pervade  the  congregation. 

But  suddenly  there  was  a  pause ;  the  speaker  hes- 
itated ;  he  was  embarrassed ;  he  passed  his  hand 
hastily  across  his  high,  white  forehead,  now  wet 
with  perspiration,  and  brushed  back  the  damp 
masses  of  hair  which  had  fallen  over  it;  he  trem- 
bled in  every  limb ;  his  father  half  rose  from  his 
Beat,  and  more  than  one  expected  to  see  him  fall"* 


22  THE    YOUNG    PEEACHER. 

the  next  moment.  But  he  (lid  not.  He  was  soon 
calm  again,  but  his  face  was  so  white  and  corpse- 
like,  it  was  almost  fearful  to  look  at.  He  tasted  a 
few  drops  from  the  glass  of  water  that  was  handed  to 
him ;  then  folding  his  hands  over  his  breast,  he  turned 
to  his  audience,  and  said : 

"  Fathers  in  the  Church,  it  might  better  become  a 
youth  like  me  to  sit  and  learn  lessons  of  wisdom  from 
your  lips,  than  thus  to  stand  before  you  in  the  attitude 
of  a  teacher;  but  it  is  not  to  teach  you  that  I  am 
here.  I  was  a  child  when  you  were  men.  I  have 
grown  to  manhood  among  you,  my  character  has 
been  formed  by  the  influence  of  your  examples,  and 
those  examples  have  taught  me  to  look  forward  to 
this  period  as  to  the  commencement  of  a  career  of 
usefulness.  You  know  with  what  misgivings,  with 
what  doubt,  and  trembling,  and  prayers,  I  ventured  to 
accept  this  sacred  calling.  I  saw  how  broad  was  the 
field,  and  how  many  laborers  were  already  engaged 
therein,  but  I  thought  that  even  an  humble  gleaner 
like  myself,  if  I  had  courage  to  venture  in,  might  be 
rewarded  with  a  sheaf.  It  is  not  to  teach  those  who 
have  long  been  laboring  that  I  have  come  in,  but  to 
learn  of  them. 

"  Fathers  in  the  Church,  teach  me  by  your  examples 
yet,  for  I  am  ignorant ;  bear  with  me  and  sustain  me 
by  your  prayers,  for  I  am  weak. 

"Mothers  in  Israel!    mothers  of    sons  born   to 


THE    YOUNG    PREACHER.  23 

inherit  immortality !  think  of  the  responsibilities  that 
rest  upon  you ;  think  of  the  honors  that  crown  you ! 
Mothers  !  could  you  realize  the  influence  you  exert ; 
could  you  know  the  blessings  invoked  upon  your 
heads  by  pious  children;  could  you  see  how  every 
little  act  of  tenderness  is  treasured  up  by  your  child, 
careless  and  thoughtless  as  he  may  seem ;  could  you 
know  the  deep  gratitude  that  fills  his  heart  when  he 
sees  that  you  share  in  his  sorrows,  pity  the  weak- 
nesses of  his  nature,  and  by  your  unfailing  love 
strengthen  him  in  the  path  of  virtue  ;  could  you  feel 
and  know  all  this,  where  is  the  mother,  the  Christian 
mother,  in  this  assembly,  who  would  not  pity  and 
forgive  not  only  the  weaknesses  of  her  own  child,  but 
also  of  one  who,  born  and  brought  up  among  you, 
has  learned  to  love  you,  to  look  to  you  for  encourage- 
ment in  every  good  word  and  work !  My  mother ! 
were  she  other  than  she  is,  what  would  her  child 
have  been  ?  And  she  is  not  here  among  you  now ! 
Shall  I  tell  you  where  she  is?  There  is  no  need  of 
that.  I  see  by  your  quivering  lips  and  tearful  eyes 
you  know  she  is  praying  for  her  child !  join  your 
prayers  with  hers !" 

Here  Elliot  stood  for  a  moment,  pale,  speechless, 
and  motionless.  Mothers  were  weeping,  younger  and 
more  blooming  cheeks  were  wet  with  tears,  men 
bowed  their  heads  as  if  in  prayer,  and  good  old  Mr. 
Ray  made  no  effort  now  to  keep  back  the  moisture 


24  THE   YOUNG   PREACHER. 

gathering  beneath  his  eyelids.  The  great  tears 
chased  each  other  over  his  round  cheeks  and  fell 
upon  his  hands  as  they  lay  helplessly  in  his  lap.  My 
eyes  were  too  dim  to  see  whether  his  thumbs  were  in 
motion  or  not.  I  looked  toward  Charles,  but  his  face 
was  not  to  be  seen ;  he  was  bending  forward  with  his 
head  resting  on  the^  back  of  the  seat  before  him. 

Elliot  resumed :  "  My  dear  young  friends,  sharers 
of  my  childish  sports,  companions  of  my  boyhood,  my 
associates  in  riper  years,  thus  far  through  life  have 
we  journeyed  hand  in  hand,  and  shall  we  be  parted 
now  ?  I  am  not  standing  here  to  prove  myself  your 
superior.  O,  no ;  far  from  it.  You  know  me  too 
well.  You  know  my  faults,  you  know  the  follies  of 
my  youth ;  but  you  know,  too,  that  we  have  all  taken 
upon  ourselves  the  same  solemn  vows  to  forsake  our 
sins  and  to  seek  salvation  by  turning  to  the  Lord.  In 
our  worldly  enjoyments  we  have  always  tried  to  height- 
en each  other's  pleasures  by  sharing  them  together. 
Ought  we  not  to  do  so  in  religion  ?  Let  me  not 
seem  to  you  as  one  who  stands  apart,  saying,  'I  am 
holier  than  thou.'  It  is  not  pride  nor  vanity  that  has 
led  me  tc  this.  Look  at  me,  and  see  if  you  can  find  in 
your  hearts  one  spark  of  envy  now.  Do  you  not  feel 
pity  for  me  rather?  pity  for  the  weakness  I  have  shown ; 
pity  for  that  sensitiveness  that  was  near  overwhelm- 
ing me  with  confusion  and  shame  when  I  met  your 
cold  and  curious  glances.  I  need  your  prayers  and 


THE    YOUNG    PREACHER.  25 

encouraging  smiles.  I  am  full  of  fears,  fears  for  my- 
self and  for  the  honor  of  the  cause  I  would  advocate. 
Shall  I  fail  when  it  is  in  your  power  to  give  me 
courage  and  confidence?  No;  I  read  it  in  your 
answering  looks  of  love.  God  will  bless  you.  Play- 
mates of  my  boyhood !  it  was  at  this  altar  that  we 
first  confessed  the  Saviour !  Shall  we  ever  dishonor 
that  confession,  or  worship  at  a  shrine  less  holy  ? 
Sisters  in  Jesus!  your  tears  of  penitence  and  joy 
were  mingled  with  ours.  Together  we  commenced 
the  Christian  life,  together  let  us  strive  to  enter 
upon  the  blissful  rewards  of  eternity !  Fathers  and 
mothers!  remember  the  children  of  your  love. 
Where  you  cannot  approve  and  praise,  it  is  yours  to 
pity  and  forgive. " 

Elliot  sat  down  and  bowed  his  head  upon  his 
hands.  The  white-haired  patriarch  arose  and  offered 
a  short,  tremulous  prayer.  Then,  as  before,  the 
whole  congregation  rose  and  sung:  that  glorious 

hymn, 

"  When  all  thy  mercies,  0  my  God," 

seemed  to  break  spontaneously  from  every  tongue. 
Elliot  stood  up  with  the  rest  and  joined  in  singing, 
but  his  voice  wavered  in  the  second  stanza,  and 
when  they  came  to  the  third  he  sat  down,  and  I 
could  see  that  he  was  convulsed  with  weeping. 
There  were  tremulous  voices  besides  his,  and  many 
cheeks  wet  with  tears. 


26  THE    YOUNG    PREACHER. 

Charles  had  not  once  raised  his  head  since  Elli- 
ot's allusion  to  their  mother;  but  the  father  stood 
erect,  apparently  unconscious  that  another  person 
was  in  the  house.  His  hands  hung  listlessly  at  his 
sides,  and  he  was  singing  at  the  top  of  his  stento- 
rian voice. 

After  the  benediction  was  pronounced,  Elliot 
stepped  without  the  railing,  and  each  one,  while 
passing  by,  shook  the  young  preacher's  hand,  and 
bade  him  God  speed. 

Charles  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  after  the  dis- 
mission. I  rode  home  with  Mr.  Ray,  and  Elliot 
followed  some  distance  behind  with  his  uncle. 

Mrs.  Ray  rose  hastily  from  her  chair  as  I  went 
in.  She  was  looking  very  pale,  but  without  noti- 
cing me,  she  went  to  the  book-case,  took  down  a 
large  volume,  and  was  returning  with  it  to  her  seat, 
when  her  husband  entered. 

"  Why,  Mary !"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are  not 
going  to  study  surveying  to-day,  are  you?  God 
bless  our  boy!  He  did  nobly!  You  needn't  be 
ashamed  of  him;  let  me  put  this  book  in  the  library; 
there's  your  Bible,  dear,  on  the  stand." 

He  said  this  very  tenderly,  and  replacing  the 
book  she  had  mistaken  for  her  Bible,  he  led  her 
gently  back  to  her  chair. 

She  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  I  thought 
she  was  fainting;  but  a  glance  in  the  direction  she 


THE    YOUNG    PREACHER.  27 

was  looking  showed  me  that  Elliot  had  come.  I 
hastened  to  my  own  room,  for  I  would  not  intrude 
myself  as  a  witness  to  such  a  meeting. 

An  hour  afterward  I  passed  the  door  of  Elliot's 
room ;  it  was  open,  and  he  stood  by  it,  leaning  hia 
head  against  the  casement.  He  looked  exhausted 
and  pale,  but  very  happy.  He  reached  out  his 
hand  to  me,  and  as  I  took  it  I  said : 

"  Tour  recompense  was  sure :  has  not  the  gleaner 
already  been  rewarded  with  a  sheaf?" 

"Yes,  Sister  A.,"  he  replied,  "and  a  richer  one 
than  he  deserved.  Charles  is  in  tears  in  his  moth- 
ers room ;  but  give  her  the  praise ;  I  owe  everything 
t/  my  mother." 


SELF-DISPARAGEMENT; 


OH, 


ELDER   BLUNT   AND   SISTER   SCRUB, 


SELF-DISPARAGE  ME  NT; 

OE, 

ELDER  BLUNT  AND  SISTER  SCRUB. 


IN  one  of  the  Eastern  states  there  is  a  settlement 
which  has  long  been  celebrated  as  a  stronghold  of 
Methodism.  It  is  an  out-of-the-way  neighborhood, 
yet  no  place  in  the  whole  country  is  better  known,  or 
more  highly  esteemed.  In  the  center  of  the  settle- 
ment, just  where  two  roads  cut  each  other  at  right 
angles,  making  a  "  four  corners,"  is  the  school-house, 
painted  red,  and  long  familiar  as  the  only  place  of 
public  worship  in  the  settlement.  The  people  are 
well  off  now,  and  have  built  a  nice  and  commodious 
Church,  on  the  opposite  corner.  A  few  rods  up  the 
road  from  the  school-house  lived  Squire  Scrub.  You 
could  tell,  at  first  sight,  that  the  "  Squire"  was  "  well 
to  do"  in  this  world,  for  everything  about  him  denot- 
ed it.  There  was  his  picket  fence  all  around  his 
garden  painted  red,  and  the  top  tipped  with  white ; 
there  was  his  house,  a  modest  one  story  and  a  half, 
with  a  leaning  to  in  the  rear,  painted  white  all  over ; 


82  SELF-DISPARAGEMENT. 

there  was  the  barn,  a  large,  well-filled  barn  it  was ; 
there  was  the  farm,  a  choice  lot  of  one  hundred  acres, 
well  cultivated ;  and  besides  all  this,  there  were  the 
honors  and  emoluments  of  the  important  office  of 
justice  of  the  peace.  The  "  Squire"  was,  of  course,  a 
man  of  note  in  his  town.  He  had  been  a  justice 
several  terms  in  succession.  He  was  a  trustee  of 
the  school  district,  and  he  was  both  class-leader  and 
steward  in  the  Methodist  Church.  I  have  no  doubt 
he  would  have  received  other  honors  at  the  hands  of 
his  fellow-townsmen  and  brethren,  had  he  been 
eligible.  Still  he  was  a  quiet,  unassuming  man,  and 
I  verily  believe  he  thought  more  of  his  religion  than 
of  all  his  ecclesiastical  and  civil  honors.  His  house 
was  the  itinerant's  home ;  and  a  right  sweet,  pleasant 
home  it  would  have  been  but  for  a  certain  unfortu- 
nate weakness  of  the  every  other  way  excellent  Sister 
Scrub.  The  weakness  I  allude  to  was,  or  at  least  it 
was  suspected  to  be,  the  love  of  praise.  Now  the 
good  sister  was  really  worthy  of  high  praise,  and  she 
often  received  it ;  but  she  had  a  way  of  disparaging 
herself  and  her  performances,  which  some  people 
thought  was  intended  to  invite  praise.  No  house- 
wife kept  her  floors  looking  so  clean  and  her  walls 
so  well  whitewashed  as  she.  Every  board  was 
scrubbed  and  scoured  till  further  scrubbing  and 
scouring  would  have  been  labor  wasted.  No  one 
could  look  on  her  white  ash  floor,  and  not  admire 


SELF-DISPARAGEMENT.  83 

the  polish  her  industry  gave  it.  The  "  Squire"  was 
a  good  provider,  and  Sister  Scrub  was  an  excellent 
cook ;  and  so  their  table  groaned  under  a  burden  of 
good  things  on  all  occasions  when  good  cheer  was 
demanded.  And  yet  you  could  never  enter  the 
house  and  sit  half  an  hour  without  being  reminded 
that  "Husband  held  court  yesterday,  and  she 
couldn't  keep  the  house  decent."  If  you  sat  down 
to  eat  with  them  she  was  sorry  she  "  hadn't  anything 
fit  to  eat."  She  had  been  scrubbing,  or  washing,  or 
ironing,  or  she  had  been  half  sick,  and  she  hadn't 
got  such  and  such  things,  that  she  ought  to  have. 
Nor  did  it  matter  how  bountiful  or  how  well  pre- 
pared the  repast  really  was,  there  was  always  some- 
thing deficient,  the  want  of  which  furnished  a  text 
for  a  disparaging  discourse  on  the  occasion.  I  re- 
member once,  that  we  sat  down  to  a  table  that  a 
king  might  have  been  happy  to  enjoy.  There  was 
the  light  snow-white  bread,  there  were  the  potatoes 
reeking  in  butter,  there  were  the  chickens  swimming 
in  gravy,  there  were  the  onions  and  the  turnips,  and 
I  was  sure  Sister  Scrub  had  gratified  her  ambition 
once.  We  sat  down,  and  a  blessing  was  asked.  In- 
gtantly  the  good  sister  began:  she  was  afraid  her 
coifee  was  too  much  burned,  or  that  the  water  had 
been  smoked,  or  that  she  hadn't  roasted  the  chicken 
enough.  There  ought  to  have  been  some  salad,  and 
it  was  too  bad  that  there  was  nothing  nice  to  offer  us. 


34  JSELF-DISPARAGEMENT, 

Wo,  of  course,  endured  these  unjustifiable  apologies 
as  well  as  we  could,  simply  remarking  that  every- 
thing was  really  nice,  and  proving  by  our  acts  that 
the  repast  was  tempting  to  our  appetites. 

I  will  now  introduce  another  actor  to  the  reader. 
It  is  Elder  Blunt,  the  circuit  preacher.  Elder  Blunt 
was  a  good  man.  His  religion  was  of  the  most  gen- 
uine, experimental  kind.  He  was  a  very  plain  man. 
He,  like  Mr.  Wesley,  would  no  more  dare  preach  a 
fine  sermon  than  wear  a  fine  coat.  He  was  celebrated 
for  his  common-sense  way  of  exhibiting  the  principles 
of  religion.  He  would  speak  just  what  he  thought, 
and  as  he  felt.  He  somehow  got  the  name  of  being 
an  eccentric  preacher,  as  every  man,  I  believe,  does, 
who  never  prevaricates  and  always  acts  and  speaks  as 
he  thinks.  Somehow  or  other,  Elder  Blunt  had  heard 
of  Sister  Scrub,  and  of  that  infirmity  of  hers,  and  he 
resolved  to  cure  her.  On  his  first  round  he  stopped 
at  "  Squire  Scrub's,"  as  all  other  itinerants  had  done 
before  Ijim.  John,  the  young  man,  took  the  elder's 
horse  and  put  him  in  the  stable,  and  the  preacher 
entered  the  house.  He  was  shown  into  the  best  room, 
and  soon  felt  very  much  at  home.  He  expected  to 
hear  something  in  due  time  disparaging  the  domestic 
arrangements,  but  he  heard  it  sooner  than  he  expected. 
This  time,  if  Sister  Scrub  could  be  credited,  her  house 
was  all  upside  down;  it  wasn't  fit  to  stay  in,  and  she 
was  sadly  mortified  to  be  caught  in  such  a  plight. 


SELF-DISPARAGEMEN^.  36 

The  elder  looked  all  around  the  room,  as  if  to  observe 
the  terrible  disorder,  but  he  said  not  a  word.  By  and 
by  the  dinner  was  ready,  and  the  elder  sat  down  with 
the  family  to  a  well-spread  table.  Here,  again,  Sister 
Scrub  found  everything  faulty;  the  coffee  wasn't  fit 
to  drink,  and  she  hadn't  anything  fit  to  eat.  The 
elder  lifted  his  dark  eye  to  her  face ;  for  a  moment  he 
seemed  to  penetrate  her  very  soul  with  his  austere 
gaze ;  then  slowly  rising  from  the  table  he  said,  "Broth- 
er Scrub,  I  want  my  horse  immediately ;  I  must  leave." 

"  Why,  Brother  Blunt,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"Matter?  Why,  sir,  your  house  isn't  fit  to  stay  in, 
and  you  haven't  anything  fit  to  eat  or  drink,  and  I 
won't  stay." 

Both  the  "Squire"  and  his  lady  were. confounded. 
This  was  a  piece  of  eccentricity  entirely  unlocked  for. 
They  were  stupefied.  But  the  elder  was  gone.  He 
wouldn't  stay  in  a  house  not  fit  to  stay  in,  and  where 
there  wasn't  anything  fit  to  eat  and  drink. 

Poor  Sister  Scrub  !  She  wept  like  a  child  at  her 
folly.  She  "  knew  it  would  bo  all  over  town,"  she 
said,  "and  everybody  would  be  laughing  at  her." 
And  then,  how  should  she  meet,  the  blunt,  honest 
.  elder  again  ?  "  She  hadn't  meant  anything  by  what 
she  had  said."  Ah !  she  never  thought  how  wicked 
it  was  to  say  so  much  that  didn't  mean  anything. 

The  upshot  of  the  whole  matter  was,  that  Sister 

Scrub  "  saw  herself  as  others  saw  her."    She  ceased 

3 


86  ^ELF-DISPARAGEMENT. 

making  apologies,  and  became  a  wiser  and  better 
Christian.  Elder  Blunt  always  puts  up  there,  always 
finds  everything  as  it  should  be,  and  with  all  his 
eccentricities,  is  thought  by  the  family  the  most 
agreeable,  as  he  is  acknowledged  by  everybody  to  be 
the  most  consistent  of  men. 


THE 


ELEVENTH  COMMANDMENT. 


BY   T.    S.   ARTHUR. 


THE  ELEVENTH  COMMANDMENT. 


A  NEW  presiding  elder,  Mr.  N.,  was  expected  in 

District ;  and  as  the  ministers  all  stopped  with 

Brother  W.  and  his  wife,  every  preparation  was 
made  to  give  him  a  cordial  reception.  The  honest 
couple  thought  that  religion,  in  part,  consisted  in 
making  some  parade;  and  therefore  the  parlor  was 
put  in  order,  a  nice  fire  was  made,  and  the  kitchen 
replenished  with  cakes,  chickens,  and  every  delicacy, 
preparatory  to  cooking. 

"While  Mr.  W.  was  out  at  his  wood-pile,  a  plain- 
looking,  coarsely-dressed,  but  quiet-like  pedestrian 
came  along,  and  inquired  the  distance  to  the  next 
town.  He  was  told  that  it  was  three  miles.  Being 
very  cold,  he  asked  permission  to  enter  and  warm 
himself.  Assent  was  given  very  grudgingly,  and 
both  went  into  the  kitchen.  The  wife  looked  dag- 
gers at  this  untimely  intrusion,  for  the  stranger  had 
on  cow-hide  boots,  an  old  hat,  and  a  thread-bare, 
but  neatly  patched,  coat.  At  length  she  gave  him  a 


40  THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT. 

chair  beside  the  Dutch  oven  which  was  baking  nice 
cakes  for  the  presiding  elder,  who  was  momentarily- 
expected,  and  who  was  to  preach  the  next  day  at  the 
church  a  mile  or  two  beyond. 

The  stranger,  after  warming  himself,  prepared  to 
leave  ;  but  the  weather  became  more  inclement,  and 
as  his  appetite  was  roused  by  the  viands  about  the 
fire,  he  asked  for  some  little  refreshment  ere  he  set 
out  on  a  cold  walk  to  the  town  beyond.  Mrs.  "W. 
'  was  displeased,  but  on  consultation  with  her  husband, 
some  cold  bacon  and  bread  were  set  on  an  old  table, 
and  he  was  then  somewhat  gruffly  told  to  eat.  It 
was  growing  dark,  and  hints  were  thrown  out  that 
the  stranger  had  better  depart,  as  it  was  three  long 
miles  to  town.  The  wife  grew  petulant  as  the  new 
preacher  did  not  arrive,  and  her  husband  sat  whistling 
the  air  of  "  Auld  Lang  Syne,"  while  he  thought  of  the 
words  of  the  hymn, 

"When  I  can  read  my  title  clear," 

and  felt  as  if  he  could  order  the  stranger  off  without 
any  further  ado. 

The  homely  meal  was  at  last  concluded ;  the  man 
thanked  them  kindly  for  the  hospitality  he  had  re- 
ceived, and  opened  the  door  to  go.     But  it  was  quite 
dark,  and  clouds  denoting  a  storm  filled  the  heavens. 
"  You  say  it  is  full  three  miles  to  D.  ?" 
"  I  do,"  said  Mr.  "W.,  coldly ;  "  I  said  so  when  you 


THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT.  41 

first  stopped,  and  you  ought  to  have  pushed  on,  like 
a  prudent  man.  You  could  have  reached  there  before 
it  was  quite  dark." 

"But  I  was  cold  and  hungry,  and  might  have 
fainted  by  the  way." 

The  manner  of  saying  this  touched  the  farmer's 
feelings  a  little. 

"  You  have  warmed  me  and  fed  me,  for  which  I 
am  thankful.  Will  yon  not  bestow  another  act  of 
kindness  upon  one  in  a  strange  place,  and  who,  if 
he  goes  out  in  the  darkness,  may  lose  himself  and 
perish  in  the  cold?" 

The  peculiar  form  in  which  this  request  was  made, 
and  the  tone  in  which  it  was  uttered,  put  it  out  of 
the  power  of  the  farmer  to  say  no. 

"  Go  in  there  and  sit  down,"  he  answered,  pointing 
to  the  kitchen,  "  and  I  will  see  my  wife,  and  hear 
what  she  says." 

And  Mr.  W.  went  into  the  parlor,  where  the  supper 
table  stood,  covered  with  a  snow-white  cloth,  and 
displaying  his  wife's  set  of  blue-sprigged  china,  that 
was  only  brought  out  on  special  occasions. 

The  tall  mold  candles  were  burning  thereon,  and 
on  the  hearth  blazed  a  cheerful  fire. 

"  Hasn't  that  old  fellow  gone  yet?"  asked  Mrs.  W. 
She  heard  his  voice  as  he  returned  from  the  door. 

"  No ;  and  what  do  you  suppose  ?  He  wants  us  to 
let  him  stay  all  night!" 


42  THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT. 

"  Indeed,  we'll  do  no  such  thing !  We  can't  have 
the  likes  of  him  in  the  house  now.  Where  could  he 
Bleep?" 

"  Not  in  the  best  room,  even  if  Mr.  N.  should  not 
come." 

"  No,  indeed !" 

"  But  really  I  don't  see,  Jane,  how  we  can  turn 
him  out  of  doors.  He  doesn't  look  like  a  very  strong 
man,  and  it's  dark  and  cold,  and  full  three  miles 
toD." 

"  It's  too  much.  He  ought  to  have  gone  on  while 
he  had  daylight,  and  not  lingered  here  as  he  did  till 
it  got  dark." 

"  We  can't  turn  him  out  of  doors,  Jane,  and  it's 
no  use  to  think  of  it.  He'll  have  to  stay,  somehow." 

"  But  what  can  we  do  with  him  ?" 

"  He  seems  like  a  decent  man  at  least,  and  doesn't 
look  as  if  he  had  anything  bad  about  him.  We 
might  make  him  a  bed  on  the  floor  somewhere." 

"  I  wish  he  had  been  at  Guinea  before  he  came 
here  !"  said  Mrs.  W.3  fretfully.  The  disappointment 
and  conviction  that  Mr.  N.  would  not  arrive,  occa- 
sioned her  to  feel  very  unpleasant ;  and  the  intrusion 
of  so  unwelcome  a  visitor  as  the  stranger  completely 
unhinged  her  mind. 

"  O,  well,"  replied  her  husband,  in  a  soothing 
voice,  "  never  mind.  We  must  make  the  best  of  it. 
He  came  to  us  tired  and  hungry,  and  we  warmed 


THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT.  43 

and  fed  him.  He  now  asks  shelter  for  the  night,  and 
we  must  not  refuse  him,  nor  grant  his  request  in  a 
complaining  or  reluctant  spirit.  Tou  know  what  the 
Bible  says  about  entertaining  angels  unawares." 

"  Angels !  did  you  ever  see  an  angel  look  like 
him?" 

"  Having  never  seen  an  angel,"  said  the  farmer, 
smiling,  "  I  am  unable  to  speak  as  to  their  appear- 
ance." 

This  had  the  effect  to  call  an  answering  smile  to 
the  face  of  Mrs.  W.,  and  a  better  feeling  to  her  heart. 
It  was  finally  agreed  between  them,  that  the  man, 
as  he  seemed  like  a  decent  kind  of  person,  should 
be  permitted  to  occupy  the  minister's  room,  if  that 
individual  did  not  arrive,  an  event  to  which  they  both 
looked  with  but  small  expectancy.  If  he  did  come, 
why  the  man  would  have  to  put  up  with  poorer 
accommodations. 

When  Mr.  "W.  returned  to  the  kitchen,  where  the 
stranger  had  seated  himself  before  the  fire,  he  in- 
formed him  that  they  had  decided  to  let  him  stay  all 
night.  The  man  expressed  in  a  few  words  his  grate- 
ful sense  of  their  kindness,  and  then  became  silent 
and  thoughtful.  Soon  after,  the  fanner's  wife,  giving 
up  all  hope  of  Mr.  N.'s  arrival,  had  supper  taken 
up,  which  consisted  of  coffee,  warm  short-cake,  and 
broiled  chickens.  After  all  was  on  the  table,  a  short 
conference  was  held  as  to  whether  it  would  not  do  to 


44  THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT. 

invite  the  stranger  to  take  supper.  It  was  true  they 
had  given  him  as  much  bread  and  bacon  as  he  could 
eat,  but  then,  as  long  as  he  was  going  to  stay  all 
night,  it  looked  too  inhospitable  to  sit  down  to  the 
table  and  not  to  ask  him  to  join  them.  So  making  a 
virtue  of  necessity,  he  was  kindly  asked  to  come  to 
supper ;  an  invitation  which  he  did  not  decline. 
Grace  was  said  over  the  meal  by  Mr.  W.,  and  the 
coffee  poured  out,  the  bread  helped,  and  the  meat 
carved. 

There  was  a  fine  little  boy  six  years  old  at  the 
table,  who  had  been  brightened  up,  and  dressed  in 
his  best,  in  order  to  grace  the  minister's  reception. 
Charles  was  full  of  talk,  and  the  parents  felt  a  mutual 
pride  in  showing  him  off,  even  before  their  humble 
guest,  who  noticed  him  particularly,  though  he  had 
not  much  to  say. 

"  Come,  Charley,"  said  Mr.  W.,  after  the  meal  was 
over,  and  he  sat  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "can't 
you  repeat  the  pretty  hymn  mamma  taught  you  last 
Sunday  ?" 

Charley  started  off  without  further  invitation,  and 
repeated  very  accurately  two  or  three  verses  of  a 
new  camp-meeting  hymn,  that  was  just  then  very 
popular. 

"Now  let  us  hear  you  say  the  commandments, 
Charley,"  spoke  up  the  mother,  well  pleased  at  her 
child's  performance. 


THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT.  45 

And  Charley  repeated  them  with  the  aid  of  a  little 
prompting. 

"  How  many  commandments  are  there  ?"  asked 
the  father. 

The  child  hesitated,  and  then,  looking  up  at  the 
stranger,  near  whom  he  sat,  said,  innocently : 

"  How  many  are  there  ?" 

The  man  thought  for  some  moments,  and  said,  as 
if  in  doubt : 

'l  Eleven,  are  there  not  ?" 

"  Eleven !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  W.  in  great  surprise. 

"Eleven!"  said  her  husband,  with  more  rebuke 
than  astonishment  in  his  voice.  "  Is  it  possible,  sir, 
that  you  do  not  know  how  many  commandments 
there  are!  How  many  are  there,  Charley?  Come, 
tell  me ;  you  know,  of  course." 

"Ten,"  replied  the  child". 

"Right,  my  son,"  returned  Mr.  W.,  looking  with  a 
smile  of  approval  on  the  child.  "Right!  There 
isn't  a  child  of  his  age  in  ten  miles  who  can't  tell  you 
there  are  ten  commandments.  Did  you  ever  read 
the  Bible,  sir  ?"  addressing  the  stranger. 

"  When  I  was  a  little  boy  I  used  to  read  it  some- 
times. But  I  am  sure  I  thought  there  were  eleven 
commandments.  Are  you  not  mistaken  about  there 
being  only  ten  ?" 

Sister  W.  lifted  her  hands  in  unfeigned  astonish- 
ment, and  exclaimed : 


46  THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT. 

"Could  any  one  believe  it?  13ueh  ignorance  of  the 
Bible!" 

Mr.  ~W.  did  not  reply,  but  rose,  and  going  to  one 
corner  of  the  room  where  the  good  book  lay  upon 
the  small  stand,  he  put  it  on  the  table  before  him, 
and  opened  at  that  portion  in  which  the  command- 
ments are  recorded. 

"There!"  he  said,  placing  his  finger  upon  the 
proof  of  the  stranger's  error.  "There !  look  for  your- 
self." 

The  stranger  came  around  from  his  side  of  the  table 
and  looked  over  Mr.  "W.'s  shoulder. 

"There!  ten,  d'ye  see?" 

"Yes,  it  does  say  ten,"  replied  the  man;  "and  yet 
it  seems  to  me  there  are  eleven.  I'm  sure  I  have 
always  thought  so." 

"  Doesn't  it  say  ten  here  ?"  inquired  Mr.  W.,  with 
marked  impatience  in  his  voice. 

"  It  does,  certainly." 

"  Well,  what  more  do  you  want  ?  Can't  you  be- 
lieve the  Bible  ?" 

"  O,  yes,  I  believe  the  Bible ;  and  yet,  it  strikes 
me  somehow,  that  there  must  be  eleven  command- 
ments. Hasn't  one  been  added  somewhere  else  ?" 

N  ow  this  was  too  much  for  Brother  and  Sister  "W. 
to  hear.  Such  ignorance  of  sacred  matters  they  felt 
to  be  unpardonable.  A  long  lecture  followed,  in 
which  the  man  was  scolded,  admonished,  and  threat- 


THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT.  47 

ened  with  Divine  indignation.  At  its  close  he  mod- 
estly asked  if  he  might  not  have  the  Bible  to  read 
for  an  hour  or  two  before  retiring  for  the  night. 
This  request  was  granted  with  more  pleasure  than 
any  of  the  preceding  ones. 

Shortly  after  supper  the  man  was  conducted  to  the 
little  square  room,  accompanied  by  the  Bible.  Be- 
fore leaving  him  alone,  Mr.  "W.  felt  it  to  be  his  duty 
to  exhort  him  to  spiritual  things,  and  he  did  so  most 
earnestly  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes.  But  he  could 
not  see  that  his  words  made  much  impression,  and 
he  finally  left  his  guest,  lamenting  his  obduracy  and 
ignorance. 

In  the  morning  he  came  down,  and  meeting  Mr. 
"W.,  asked  him  if  he  would  be  so  kind  as  to  lend  him 
a  razor,  that  he  might  remove  his  beard,  which  did 
not  give  his  face  a  very  attractive  aspect.  His  re- 
quest was  complied  with. 

"  "We  will  have  prayers  in  about  ten  minutes,"  said 
Mr.  W.,  as  he  handed  him  the  razor  and  shaving-box. 

The  man  appeared,  and  behaved  with  due  pro- 
priety at  family  worship.  After  breakfast  he 
thanked  the  farmer  and  his  wife  for  their  hospital-, 
ity,  and  departing,  went  on  his  journey. 

Ten  o'clock  came,  but  Mr.  N.  had  not  arrived. 
So  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W.  started  for  the  meeting-house, 
not  doubting  that  they  would  find  him  there.  But 
they  were  disappointed.  A  goodly  number  of  peo- 


48  THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT. 

pie  were  inside  the  meeting-house,  and 'a  goodly 
number  outside,  but  the  minister  had  not  arriTed. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  !N".  ?"  inquired  a  dozen  voices,  as  a 
little  crowd  gathered  around  the  farmer. 

"He  hasn't  come  yet.  Something  has  detained 
him.  But  I  still  look  for  him ;  indeed,  I  fully  expect- 
ed to  find  him  here." 

The  day  was  cold,  and  Mr.  "W".,  after  becoming 
thoroughly  chilled,  concluded  to  go  in  and  keep  a 
good  look-out  for  the  minister  from  the  window  near 
which  he  usually  sat.  Others,  from  the  same  cause, 
followed  his  example,  and  the  little  meeting-house 
was  soon  filled,  and  one  after  another  came  dropping 
in.  The  farmer,  who  turned  toward  the  door  each 
time  it  was  opened,  was  a  little  surprised  to  see  his 
guest  of  the  previous  night  enter,  and  come  slowly 
down  the  aisle,  looking  from  side  to  side,  as  if  search- 
ing for  a  vacant  seat,  very  few  of  which  were  now 
left.  Still  advancing,  he  finally  got  within  the  little 
inclosed  altar,  and  ascending  to  the  pulpit,  took  off 
his  old  gray  overcoat  and  sat  down. 

By  this  time  Mr.  ~W.  was  at  his  side,  and  had  his 
hand  upon  his  arm. 

"You  musn't  sit  here.  Come  down,  and  J  will 
show  you  a  seat,"  he  said,  in  an  excited  tone. 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  man  in  a  composed 
voice.  "  It  is  very  comfortable  here."  And  the 
man  remained  immovable. 


THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT.  49 

Mr.  W.  feeling  embarrassed,  weuf  down,  intending 
to  get  a  brother  "  official "  to  assist  him  in  making  a 
forcible  ejection  of  the  man  from  the  place  he  was 
desecrating.  Immediately  upon  his  doing  so,  however, 
the  man  rose,  and  standing  up  at  the  desk,  opened 
the  hymn  book.  His  voice  thrilled  to  the  finger  ends 
of  Brother  "W\,  as  in  a  distinct  and  impressive  manner 
he  gave  out  the  hymn  beginning : 

','Help  us  to  help  each  other,  Lord, 

Each  other's  cross  to  bear ; 
Let  each  his  friendly  aid  afford, 
And  feel  a  brother's  care." 

The  congregation  rose  after  the  stranger  had  read 
the  entire  hymn,  and  had  repeated  the  first  two  lines 
for  them  to  sing.  Brother  "W.  usually  started  the 
tunes.  He  tried  this  time,  but  went  off  on  a  long 
meter  tune.  Discovering  his  mistake  at  the  second 
word,  he  balked  and  tried  it  again,  but  now  he  stum- 
bled on  short  meter.  A  musical  brother  here  came 
to  his  aid,  and  led  off  with  a  tune  that  suited  the 
measure  in  which  the  hymn  was  written. 

After  singing,  the  congregation  kneeled,  and  the 
minister,  for  no  one  doubted  his  real  character, 
addressed  the  throne  of  grace  with  much  fervor  and 
eloquence.  The  reading  of  a  chapter  in  the  Bible 
succeeded.  Then  thexe  was  a  deep  pause  throughout 
the  room  in  anticipation  of  the  text,  which  the 
preacher  prepared  to  announce. 


50  THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT. 

Brother  "W.  looked  pale,  and  his  hands  and  knees 
trembled.  Sister  W.'s  face  was  like  crimson,  and  her 
heart  was  beating  so  loud  that  she  wondered  whether 
the  sound  was  not  heard  by  the  sister  who  sat  beside 
her.  There  was  a  breathless  silence.  The  dropping 
of  a  pin  might  almost  have  been  heard.  Then  the 
fine,  emphatic  tones  of  the  preacher  filled  the 
crowded  room. 

"  A.  new  commandment  I  gi/ue  unto  you,  That  ye 
love  one  another" 

Brother  "W.  had  bent  forward  to  listen,  but  now  he 
sank  back  in  his  seat.  This  was  the  Eleventh  com- 
mandment. 

The  sermon  was  deep,  searching,  yet  affectionate 
and  impressive.  The  preacher  uttered  nothing  that 
could  in  the  least  wound  the  brother  and  sister  of 
whose  hospitality  he  had  partaken,  but  he  said  much 
that  smote  upon  their  hearts,  and  made  them  pain- 
fully conscious  that  they  had  not  shown  as  much 
kindness  to  the  stranger  as  he  had  been  entitled  to 
receive  on  the  broad  principle  of  humanity.  But 
they  suffered  most  from  mortification  of  feeling.  To 
think  that  they  should  have  treated  the  presiding 
elder  of  the  district  after  such  a  fashion  was  deeply 
humiliating;  and  the  idea  of  the  whole  affair  getting 
abroad,  interfered  sadly  with  their  devotional  feel- 
ings throughout  the  whole  period  of  service. 

At  last  the  sermon  was  over,  the  ordinance  admin- 


THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMENT.  51 

istered,  and  the  benediction  pronounced.  Brother 
W.  did  not  know  what  it  was  best  for  him  to  do.  He 
never  was  more  at  a  loss  in  his  life.  Then  Mr.  N. 
descended  from  the  pulpit,  but  he  did  not  step 
forward  to  meet  him.  How  could  he  do  that  ?  Oth- 
ers gathered  around  and  shook  hands  with  him,  but 
still  he  lingered  and  held  back. 

"Where  is  Brother  W.?"  he  at  length  heard  asked. 
It  was  the  voice  of  the  minister. 

"  Here  he  is,"  said  one  or  two,  opening  the  way  to 
where  the  farmer  stood. 

The  preacher  advanced,  and  catching  his  hand, 
said: 

"  How  do  you  do,  Brother  W.  ?  I  am  glad  to  see 
yon.  And  where  is  Sister  W.  ?" 

Sister  W.  was  brought  forward,  and  the  preacher 
shook  hands  with  them  heartily,  while  his  face  was 
lit  up  with  smiles. 

"  I  believe  I  am  to  find  a  home  with  you,"  he  said, 
as  if  it  was  settled. 

Before  the  still  embarrassed  brother  and  sister 
could  reply,  some  one  asked : 

"  How  came  you  to  be  detained  so  late  ?  You 
were  expected  last  night.  And  where  is  Brother  R.  ?" 

"  Brother  R.  is  sick,"  replied  Mr.  N.,  "*and  I  had 
to  come  alone.  Five  miles  from  this  my  horse  gave 
out,  and  I  had  to  come  the  rest  of  the  way  on  foot. 
But  I  became  so  cold  and  weary  that  I  found  it 


62  THE    ELEVENTH    COMMANDMEN1- 

necessary  to  ask  a  farmer  not  far  from  here  to  give 
me  a  night's  lodging,  which  he  was  kind  enough  to 
do.  I  thought  I  was  still  three  miles  off,  but  it  hap- 
pened that  I  was  much  nearer  my  journey's  end  than 
I  supposed." 

This  explanation  was  satisfactory  to  all  parties,  and 
in  due  time  the  congregation  dispersed,  and  the 
presiding  elder  went  home  with  Brother  and  Sister  W. 
One  thing  is  certain,  however,  the  story  never  got 
out  for  some  years  after  the  worthy  brother  and  sister 
had  passed  from  their  labors,  and  it  was  then  related 
by  Mr.  N.  himself,  who  was  rather  eccentric  in  his 
character,  and,  like  numbers  of  his  ministerial 
brethren,  fond  of  a  joke,  and  given  to  relating  good 
stories. 


THE 


YI.LLAGE    SLANDER. 


BY   WILLIAM   COMSTOCK. 


THE    VILLAGE    SLANDER. 


WHEN  Mr.  Blasset,  a  worthy  old  inhabitant  of  our 
village,  was  going  to  mill,  some  two  or  three  weeks 
ago,  he  met  Mr.  Samuel  Gore,  and  after  exchanging 
the  customary  salutations  with  each  other,  the  two 
gentlemen  held  a  short  consultation. 

"  Do  tell  me,  neighbor  Gore,  what  sort  of  a  man  is 
that  Windham,  who  has  lately  taken  a  house  near 
you?" 

"  I  don't  like  to  speak  ill  of  my  neighbors,"  replied 
Gore,  "  but  I  am  afraid  he  is  not  such  a  man  as  you 
could  approve  or  esteem." 

"Indeed!  why  so?" 

"  I  fear  he  is  a  man  of  very  high  temper ;  a  very 
dangerous  man,  in  fact,"  said  the  other. 

"  That  is  bad,  very  bad,"  cried  Blasset,  shaking  his 
head.  "  The  worst  is  his  own,  for  I  had  intended  to 
offer  him  a  prime  situation,  and  a  profitable  one ;  but 
if  he  is  a  man  of  violent  temper  he  would  not  answer 
our  purpose.  It  is  a  pity,  but  it  cannot  be  helped." 


66  THE    VILLAGE    SLANDER. 

Mr.  Blasset  rode  on,  and  Mr.  Gore  also  went  abou. 
his  business. 

Two  days  afterward,  there  was  a  party  of  young 
people  at  Squire  Blackwell's  house,  and  during  the 
evening  a  couple  of  young  ladies  present  discoursed 
as  follows : 

"  Have  you  seen  Miss  Jaines  lately  ?" 

"  No,  I  have  not.  I  understand  she  is  very  mel- 
ancholy." 

"  That  is  not  strange.  It  was  cruel  in  her  parents 
to  break  up  the  match," 

"  Not  altogether  cruel,  when  everything  is  consid- 
ered. I  am  certain  that  if  I  were  in  their  situation, 
I  should  not  want  to  marry  a  daughter  of  mine  to 
such  a  man  as  Mr.  "Windham." 

"  But  perhaps  it  is  not  so  bad  as  they  have  been 
led  to  suppose." 

"  Yet,  only  think  of  it !  To  attack  a  poor  old  man 
in  that  way !  Really,  I  must  defend  the  conduct  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  James.  I  think  they  would  have 
proved  wanting  in  their  conduct  to  their  daughter, 
if  they  had  permitted  the  marriage  to  take  place." 

"  But  will  he  not  sue  for  a  breach  of  promise  ?" 

"  That  admits  not  of  a  doubt.  A  man  of  so  ma- 
licious and  fiery  a  disposition  will  leave  no  stone  un- 
turned. He  will  make  trouble  for  them  if  he  can." 

"  Well,  it  is  a  sad  affair.  How  much  mischief  is 
done  in  this  world,  and  how  many  innocent  persons 


THE    VILLAGE    SLANDER.  57 

are  made  to  suffer  by  the  ungovernable  passions  of 
an  individual  ?" 

On  the  day  after  the  above  conversation  had  taken 
place,  there  was  a  number  of  persons  gathered  to- 
gether in  the  village  tavern,  talking  politics,  dis- 
coursing about  the  news  of  the  day,  and  playing  at 
checkers.  The  post-office  was  kept  at  the  tavern, 
and  occasionally  some  person  was  obliged  to  run  the 
gauntlet  through  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke,  projecting 
legs,  and  obtrusive  elbows,  before  he  could  win  his 
way  to  the  bar,  and  make  the  necessary  inquiry. 
Not  much  notice  was  taken,  however,  of  those  appli- 
cants, until  a  young  man  of  modest  bearing,  and  ap- 
parently with  some  hesitation,  entered  the  room,  and 
pressed  through  the  crowd  for  the  purpose  of  obtain- 
ing a  letter.  All  eyes  were  immediately  turned 
upon  him,  and  his  countenance  betrayed  considera- 
ble anxiety  and  agitation,  when  he  overheard  the 
remarks  which  were  obviously  intended  for  his  ear. 

After  leaving  the  tavern  this  young  man  passed 
quickly  up  the  main  road  for  about  the  distance  of  a 
quarter  of  a  mile,  when  he  turned  off  into  a  path 
leading  into  a  piece  of  woods,  and  then  he  slackened 
his  pace.  He  went  slowly  forward,  muttering  to 
himself,  while  his  features  worked  with  strong  emo- 
tion, and  an  occasional  tear  glistened  in  his  eyes. 
When  he  had  reached  the  middle  of  the  wood  lie  • 
became  sensible  that  some  person  was  approaching 


58  THE    VILLAG§ 


SLANDER. 


him  from  the  opposite  direction.  He  would  fain 
have  turned  aside,  but  it  was  too  late,  and  suddenly 
the  minister  of  the  village  church  stood  before  him. 

"  Good  day,  Mr.  Windham,"  was  the  sudden  ad- 
dress of  that  gentleman;  "I  have  been  to  your  house, 
but  you  were  not  at  home.  I  have  desired  to  see 
you  for  several  days.  Nay,  be  not  dismayed,  I  come 
on  a  friendly  errand.  I  have  heard  of  your  misfor- 
tunes, and  desire  to  alleviate,  if  not  wholly  remove 
them.  There  seems  to  be  a  strong  prejudice  against 
you  in  this  place,  and  I  suspect  that  it  is  ill-founded." 

"Indeed  it  is,"  replied  "Windham;  "I  know  not 
what  it  means.  I  have  some  enemy  here  who  has 
crossed  me  at  every  turn.  Strange  stories  are  re- 
ported concerning  me,  and  I  know  not  from  what 
source  they  have  taken  their  rise.  Even  now  I  went 
to  the  post-office  for  a  letter ;  every  one  stared  at 
me  as  if  I  had  been  the  great  giraffe  from  Africa, 
and  when  they  whispered  to  one  another,  I  could 
hear  them  say,  '  He  has  the  gallows  written  on  his 
forehead !'  f  What  a  hang-dog  countenance !'  '  See 
how  his  eyes  glare!'  I  am  certain  I  do  not  know 
what  it  means." 

"I  believe  you,"  said  the  minister,  taking  his 
hand,  "  and  I  am  persuaded  that  the  people  of  this 
village  labor  under  some  mistake  respecting  you. 
It  is  said  that  you  are  hasty  and  passionate,  and 
I  understand  it  was  on  that  score  the  parents  of — " 


THE    VILLAGE    SLANDER.  i)9 

Perceiving  Windham  becoming  much  agitated,  the 
speaker  paused.  He  resumed  in  a  few  moments : 

•"No  matter.  I  wish  to  put  you  in  a  way  to  re- 
move the  imputations  which  have  been  cast  upon 
you.  If  you  are  innocent  you  have  nothing  to  fear. 
Fix  upon  some  one  person  who  has  evinced  dislike 
toward  you.  Go  to  him  in  a  frank  and  manly  way. 
See  him  alone,  and  persuade  him  to  give  you  the 
name  of  the  individual  from  whom  he  derived  his 
information  respecting  you.  Then  go  to  the  individ- 
ual named,  and  require  the  authority  by  which  he 
has  spoken  ill  of  you.  When  the  foundation  of  these 
reports  is  once  laid  bare,  you  may  annihilate  it  with 
a  single  breath." 

"You  impose  upon  me  an  arduous  and  painful 
task,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"There  is  but  one  right  way  to  do  anything," 
said  the  minister.  "It  is  the  part  of  virtue  to 
show  its  head.  Vice  skulks  in  dens  and  caves. 
You  must  put  on  the  armor  of  faith,  and  believe 
that  victory,  sooner  or  later,  crowns  the  right. 
Confidence  in  the  power  of  justice  and  truth,  gives 
moral  courage.  I  beg  that  you  will  play  the  man 
in  this  matter." 

Windham  seemed  to  catch  the  spirit  of  his  advi- 
ser, and  promised  to  follow  his  directions.  He 
bade  the  Rev.  Mr.  Rogers  good-by,  and  walked 
directly  back  to  the  tavern.  He  stood  at  the  door 


60  THE   VILLAGE    SLANDER. 

of  the  bar-room  and  looked  in.  A  general  sneer 
was  the  consequence.  There  were  frowns  and  mut- 
terings,  whisperings  and  threatening  gestures.  For 
a  moment  Windham's  heart  misgave  him.  In  an- 
other instant  he  was  at  the  side  of  one  of  his 
persecutors.  "Mr.  Jones,  I  desire  to  speak  to  you 
in  private,"  said  he.  Now  Mr.  Jones  was  a  pro- 
fessor of  religion,  and  a  member  of  the  Church ; 
yet  he  had  suffered  himself  to  become  violently 
prejudiced  against  the  young  man.  This  sudden 
challenge  to  a  personal  interview  was  as  unexpected 
to  him  as  to  the  other  individuals  present.  He 
blushed,  and  looked  about  him  as  if  doubtful  what 
course  to  take.  He  saw  that  the  eyes  of  all  pres- 
ent were  upon  him,  and  he  thought  best  to  grant 
the  request  of  the  youth.  They  walked  out  together 
and  stood  upon  the  green  in  front  of  the  church. 

"Mr.  Jones,"  said  Windham,  "you  appear  to 
have  heard  some  slanderous  report  respecting  me. 
Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  give  the  name  of  my 
traducer  ?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  other,  "you  have  some 
assurance,  seeing  that  I  am  a  stranger  to  you. 
What  if  I  should  say  that  you  had  no  right  to 
demand  such  a  thing  of  me?  It's  not  my  way  to 
make  trouble  between  other  folks.  I've  heard 
enough  to  convince  me  that  you  ought  not  to  be 
tolerated  in  this  town." 


THE    VILLAGE    SLANDER.  61 

"What  was  the  story  that  you  heard,  sir?" 

"What  did  I  hear?  Ask  your  own  conscience. 
Your  countenance  shows  it  now.  A  person  that 
wasn't  guilty  would  not  tremble  and  turn  pale  as 
you  do.  I  suppose  you  will  deny  that  you  attempt- 
ed your  uncle's  life  ?" 

"I,  sir!  I  don't  understand  you.  Here  is  some 
mistake.  I  beg  you,  I  beseech  you,  to  give  me  the 
name  of  the  person  who  told  you  so." 

"  In  order  that  you  may  go  and  attempt  his  life 
too,  "I  suppose.  No,  no,  young  man;  you  don't 
carry  on  such  business  in  this  village,  I  warrant  you." 

"Then  you  will  not  give  the  name  of  your  in- 
former?" 

"I  tell  you  I  will  not,  .for  everybody  knows." 
Here  Mr.  Jones  suddenly  paused,  and  betrayed 
some  emotion.  Windham  followed  the  direction 
of  his  eyes,  and  turning  his  head,  saw  Mr.  Rogers 
looking  over  his  shoulder  upon  the  countenance  of 
Jones,  with  a  steady  but  stern  aspect. 

"  Ahem !  this  young  man  has  been  telling  me," 
commenced  Mr.  Jones. 

"  I  beg  you  will  continue  your  conversation  with 
him"  said  Mr.  Rogers.  "As  I  am  privy  to  the 
subject  of  your  discourse,  I  suppose  you  can  have 
no  objection  to  my  presence." 

"  Certainly  not,  Mr.  Rogers,"  returned  the  other. 
"He  is  a  very  dangerous  young  man,  as  you  have 


62  THE    VILLAGE    SLANDER. 

heard,  no  doubt.  He  wants  me  to  give  the  name 
of  the  person  who  told  me  his  true  character.  But 
that  would  make  mischief,  you  know." 

"Have  you  reported  the  story  to  any  other  indi- 
vidual ?"  inquired  the  minister. 

"I  can't  deny  but  what  I  have,"  answered  the 
other. 

""Were  you  not  afraid  that  you  should  -make 
mischief  by  so  doing  ?"  asked  Mr.  Rogers.  "  Surely 
a  man  who  evinces  so  much  tenderness  of  con- 
science, ought  to  be  careful  how  he  gives  currency 
to  idle  rumors." 

"Idle  rumors,  sir!  "Would  Mr.  Gore  report  a 
falsehood?" 

"I  will  see  Mr.  Gore  immediately,"  said  the 
youth  with  some  eagerness. 

"Do  so,"  said  the  minister,  as  he  turned  to  go 
home,  and  left  Mr.  Jones  alone  upon  the  green,  in 
a  state  of  bewilderment. 

"Windham  hastened  to  the  farm-house,  and  found 
Mr.  Gore  smoking  his  pipe  in  the  corner  of  his 
antiquated  fire-place. 

"  Good-day,  sir,"  said  the  young  man. 

Gore  was  in  no  haste  to  reply  to  the  unexpected 
salutation;  but  suflfering  the  smoke  to  clear  away 
from  before  his  vision,  and  half  shutting  his  eyes, 
he  peered  earnestly  through  his  knitted  brows,  as 
if  doubting  the  identity  of  his  visitor. 


THE    VILLAGE    SLANDER.  68 

The  youth  felt  as  if  he  had  no  time  to  lose. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "I  have  been  shunned  by  my 
acquaintances,  denied  admittance  to  the  house  of 
Mr.  James,  and  stared  at  like  a  wild  beast  in  a 
menagerie,  for  several  days  past."  . 

"  For  your  bad  conduct — O,  young  man." 

"  No,  sir ;  but  because  you  have  reported  that  I 
tried  to  kill  my  uncle." 

"I  did  not  say  exactly  so,"  returned  Mr.  Gore. 
"But  I  heard  that  you  made  a  murderous  assault 
on  your  uncle  with  an  ax." 

"Who  said  so?" 

"I  heard  it  from  Mr.  Smith,  and  he  says  he  will 
not  eat  his  own  words." 

"Thank  you,  sir!"  cried  "Windham;  and  he  ran 
to  the  "store  kept  by  Mr.  Smith. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  he,  hastily. 

"Well,  sir,"  returned  Smith,  coldly. 

"Did  you  report  that  I  attacked  my  uncle  with 
an  ax  ?"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Certainly  I  did,"  responded  the  store-keeper. 
"  Did  you  not  confess  the  crime  to  me  yourself?" 

"  Never !"  exclaimed  Windham. 

"  What !"  cried  Smith ;  "  did  I  not  meet  you  in 
the  road  the  other  day,  with  a  staff  in  your  hand, 
and  did  I  not  ask  you  how  you  did,  and — " 

"I  remember  it  all;  how  strange!"  exclaimed 
Windham.  "Now,  all  who  are  present  will  be 


64  THE    VILLAGE    SLANDER. 

good  enough  to  listen  to  me.  I  met  Mr.  Smith 
in  the  road  the  other  day.  I  had  a  staff  in  my 
hand,  for  I  was  lame.  He  asked  me  how  I  did, 
and  I  replied  that  I  had  hurt  my  amJde  with  an 
ax." 

"Did  you  not  say  that  you  hurt  your  wide  with 
an  ax?"  cried  the  store-keeper,  blushing  as  red  as 
scarlet. 

"By  no  means,"  cried  Windham;  and  he  imme- 
diately stripped  down  his  stocking  and  laid  bare  a 
scar  upon  his  ankle,  which  had  evidently  been 
the  result  of  a  blow  from  an  ax. 

"The  young  man  is  right,  it  was  my  mistake!" 
said  the  store-keeper.  "Give  me  your  hand.  I 
beg  your  pardon." 

"Windham  reached  his  hand  to  Smith,  and  all 
who  were  in  the  store  walked  up  and  shook 
hands  with  the  young  man,  expressing  their 
regret  for  the  mistake  into  which  they  had 
fallen. 

Before  the  sun  went  down,  there  was  not  a 
man,  woman,  or  child  in  the  village  who  had 
not  heard  the  triumphant  refutation  of  the  fool- 
ish slander.  A  reaction  took  place,  and  every 
villager  was  desirous  of  doing  Windham  a  kind- 
ness. But  he  did  not  see  Mr.  Rogers  again 
until  he  was  obliged  to  secure  the  services  of 
that  gentleman  in  a  delicate  affair,  which  con- 


THE    VILLAGE    SLANDER.  65 

cerned  Miss  James  equally  with  himself.  He 
then  thanked  the  clergyman  for  his  timely  ad- 
vice and  assistance!,  and  added :  "  Hereafter, 
when  a  false  •  imputation  rests  upon  me,  I  will 
meet  it  boldly,  prove  its  source,  and  look  it 
down  at  once." 


CHARITY  ENVIETH  NOT. 

BY   ALICE   B.   NEAL. 


CHARITY   ENVIETH  NOT. 


"  You  don't  say  so  ?" 

"  True  as  Gospel,  Miss  Snelling.  That  velvet  cloak 
of  hers,  she  calls  it  a  Talma,  cost  every  cent  of 
twenty -five  dollars.  Then  there  is  her  bonnet;  that 
came  from  New -York  too:  Miss  Dunn's  work  ain't 
good  enough  for  her  of  late  years.  Well,  that  bonnet 
couldn't  be  bought  for  less  than  eight  dollars.  Why 
the  ribbons  must  be  four-and-six  a  yard,  not  to  speak 
of  the  feathers.  Then  there's  that  new  plaid  silk, 
you  know,  and  that  French  merino ;  neither  of  them 
less  than  twelve  shillings,  and  that's  the  way  she 
dresses.  Time  was  when  she  was  glad  enough  to  get 
me  to  sew  for  her.  I've  had  her  beg  and  beg,  and 
beseech  me  to  give  her  a  day,  or  even  a  half  day,  in 
my  spring  hurry ;  and  now  she's  got  a  seamstress,  as 
she  calls  that  stuck-up  girl  that  sits  in  the  sitting-room 
all  day.  She  makes  the  children's  clothes,  and  hern 
are  cut  and  fixed  in  New- York,  when  they  ain't 
made  there." 


70          '   .     CHARITY    ENVIETH    NOT. 

» 

"She's  dreadful  extravagant  for  a  Church  member," 
said  Mrs.  Snelling,  with  a  sigh,  as  she  turned  herself 
slowly  round  before  the  little  looking  glass.  She  was 
having  a  lining  fitted  by  the  village  dress-maker, 
Miss  Prime5  and  a  merino  dress  she  had  worn  two 
years  was  partly  ripped  up  on  the  chair  by  the  win- 
dow. It  was  the  only  dress-making  she  had  on  hand 
for  the  season.  It  was  a  hard  winter,  and  what  with 
the  sickness  of  the  children,  and  Mr.  Snelling  losing 
so  much  time  by  the  frost,  their  means  were  unu- 
sually limited.  No  wonder  she  thought  of  the  ease 
and  plenty  of  the  rich  manufacturer's  household  with 
a  feeling  of  envy.  She  did  not  know  it,  though.  She 
was  a  plain,  good-hearted  person  naturally,  strug- 
gling on  to  do  her  duty,  through  the  discouragement 
of  ill-health,  ailing  children,  and  very  narrow  means ; 
but  she  could  not  help  thinking  Mrs.  Hubbard  was 
getting  worldly  and  extravagant,  as  year  by  year 
her  household  arrangements  and  personal  expenses 
increased. 

Only  the  Sunday  before,  at  meeting,  she  could  not 
fix  her  attention  upon  the  sermon  for  looking  at  the 
velvet  Talma  worn  by  her  old  friend  and  still  kind 
neighbor,  Mrs.  Hubbard.  They  were  members  of  the 
same  church,  of  which  Mr.  Hubbard  was  the  most 
liberal  supporter.  He  gave  according  to  his  means, 
and  at  the  same  time  desired  his  wife  and  family  to 
dress  as  became  his  altered  condition  and  prospects. 


CHARITY    ENVIETH    NOT.  71 


"Time  was  wheiTshe  had  to  work  hard  enough,5* 
continued  Miss  Prime,  pinching  in  a  side  seam  in  the 
endeavor  to  produce  the  hour  glass  shape,  orthodox 
when  she  "  learned  her  trade."  "  I  remember  when 
they  first  set  up  housekeeping,  and  she  had  to  do  her 
own  work  as  well  as  other  people,  and  her  own  sew- 
ing too.  Now  I  don't  believe  she  takes  a  needle  in 
her  hand  from  morning  till  night,  while  you  and  I, 
Miss  Snelling,  don't  get  many  play  spells." 

The  leaven  of  uncharitableness  worked  on  in  Mrs. 
Snelling's  heart. 

"I'm  afraid  there  is  not  much  spiritual  growth, 
Miss  Prime.  The  cares  of  this  world  choke  the  seed." 
Poor  woman,  she  thought  it  was  only  an  interest  in 
her  neighbor's  best  good  that  prompted  such  a 
constant  review  of  her  conduct.  "  People  that  have 
their  hearts  set  on  dress  and  high  living  can't  have 
much  time  for  better  things." 

"  That's  what  I  think.  How  do  you  like  them  bask 
waists,  Miss  Snelling  ?  I  hear  they're  all  the  fashion 
in  New -York.'  Miss  Dunn  said  she'd  try  and  get  me 
a  pattern  when  she  went  down  in  the  spring.  I 
wouldn't  ask  Mrs.  Hubbard  to  lend  me  hers  to  look 
at  for  nothing  in  the  world.  How  am  I  going  to  get 
out  new  backs,  Mrs.  Snelling  ?" 

"  There's  the  cape,  you  see." 

"Why  so  there  is!  I  never  calculated  the  cape. 
I  was  studying  and  contriving  all  the  time  you  were 


72  CHARITY    ENVIETH    NOT. 

m 

at  breakfast.  Says  I,  'Miss  Snelling  will  have  to 
have  them  backs  pieced,  and  then  everybody  in 
town  will  know  it  has  been  made  over.'" 

As  if  everybody  in  Mrs.  Snelling's  community 
would  not  have  known  and  noticed,  that  her  brown 
merino  of  two  winters  ago  had  been  turned  and  made 
up  again  for  her  best  dress.  She  had  set  her  heart 
early  in  the  fall,  on  a  new  style  of  plaids,  for  sale  at 
Brown  and  Plaisted's ;  but  the  doctor's  bill  was  so 
much  larger  than  she  expected,  she  was  obliged  to 
give  it  up.  The  sacrifice  had  cost  her  many  hours 
of  calculation,  alternate  resolves,  and  reconsideration. 
Every  purchase  that  she  made  indeed  was,  of  neces- 
sity, turned  over  and  over  in  her  mind  for  weeks. 

Miss  Prime  went  on  with  her  fitting  by  the 
window,  and  Mrs.  Snelling  with  her  task  of  washing 
up  the  breakfast  dishes,  jogging  the  cradle  with  one 
foot  now  and  then,  as  her  youngest  child  stirred  in 
his  morning  nap. 

"  That  was  a  lucky  thought,  that  cape."  Miss  Prime 
resumed  her  thimble  and  her  conversation  together. 
"It  don't  seem  to  be  so  much  worn  as  the  rest  neither." 

"  No,  it  isn't ;  I  only  kept  it  for  very  cold  days.  I 
thought  of  it  in  church,  Sunday,  right  in  the  middle 
of  the  sermon.  Queer,  wasn't  it  ?  I  was  dreadfully 
afraid  you  couldn't  get  it  out.  So  as  soon  as  I  came 
home,  I  took  it  out  and  looked  at  it ;  sure  enough,  it 
was  the  very  thing." 


CHARITY    ENVIETH    NOT.  78 


"  I  see  Miss  JamelThas  got  a  new  cloak  this  winter. 
She  hain't  worn  hers  more  than  three  winters,  to 
my  knowledge.  Well,  these  rich  people  are  just  as 
worldly,  for  all  I  see,  as  if  they  wasn't  professors." 
Miss  Prime  was  one  of  the  most  constant  attendants 
upon  the  prayer-meetings,  and  saw  no  "  beam  in  her 
own  eye." 

"Time  was,  as  you  say,  Miss  Prime,  when  we  were 
all  plain  people  together,  with  good  feelings  toward 
each  other.  I  think  of  it  very  often — the  days  when 
Susan  Hubbard  and  I  used  to  send  our  little  presents 
to  each  other,  New  Year's,  and  be  neighborly  all 
along.  That  was  before  the  Jameses  moved  here,  or 
Lawyer  Marten's  people.  She  is  so  intimate  with 
them  now,  she  hasn't  got  any  time  for  old  friends. 
Many  and  many's  the  time  I've  sent  her  things  right 
off  my  table ;  and  when  her  Jane  had  the  scarlet 
fever,  I  sat  up  with  her  night  after  night.  But  I 
don't  mind  that.  What  I  look  at  is  Christian  pro- 
fessors being  so  taken  up  with  dress,  and  going  about, 
but  dress  particularly.  It  don't  look  right,  and  it 
isn't  in  accordance  with  Scripture." 

It  was  a  wearisome,  fatiguing  day  to  Mrs.  Snelling, 
who  did  the  whole  work  of  her  household.  Her 
oldest  son  was  learning  his  father's  trade,  and  the 
dinner  for  the  two  had  to  be  on  the  table  precisely 
at  twelve,  for  they  had  but  an  hour's  nooning.  So, 
scarcely  were  the  breakfast  things  cleared  away,  when 


74  CHARITY    ENVIETH    NOT. 


there  were  the  meat  and  vegetables  to  prepare  for  a 
"  boiled  dinner ;"  and  twice  she  was  obliged  to  stand 
and  be  pinned  up  in  the  thick  jean  lining  Miss  Prime 
was  fitting  with  unexampled  tightness.  The  afternoon 
was  no  better;  she  had  Tuesday's  ironing  to  finish, 
her  little  boy  was  sick  and  fretful,  and  very  heavy ; 
he  required  to  be  nursed  and  tended  as  if  he  had  been 
a  baby.  She  wanted  to  sew  with  Miss  Prime ;  but 
no  sooner  would  she  get  her  needle  threaded  and  her 
thimble  on,  than  some  new  demand  would  be  made 
upon  her  time ;  and  so  the  short  afternoon  passed 
before  she  could  stitch  up  a  seam,  and  tea  must  be 
ready  by  dark.  Besides  all  this,  Miss  Prime  was  dis- 
posed to  continue  her  conversation,  with  very  little 
pause  or  stint,  discussing  the  affairs  of  the  neighbor- 
hood and  the  Church,  with  a  train  of  moral  and  relig- 
ious and  personal  reflections.  Every  one  knows  how 
fatiguing  it  is  to  be  expected  to  listen  to  such  a  dis- 
course, and  respond  in  the  right  place,  even  when  the 
mind  is  unoccupied  ;  and  then  the  dress  did  not  look 
near  as  well  as  Mrs.  Snelling  had  figured  it  in  her 
mind,  the  new  pieces  being  several  shades  darker  than 
the  main  body  of  the  material.  More  discouraging 
than  all,  it  needed  "finishing  off"  when  seven  o'clock 
sounded  the  signal  for  the  conference  meeting,  which 
Miss  Prime  would  not  miss  on  any  account. 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  staying  over  my  time  just  to 
give  you  a  helping  hand,  if  it  wasn't  Church-meeting 


CHARITY    ENVIETH    NOT.  75 

• 

night ;  but  you  know  it's  very  important  all  should 
be  there  that  can.  To  be  sure,  Miss  Hubbard  is  so 
took  up  with  other  things  now,  she  never  goes ;  and 
though  Miss  James  joined  by  letter  when  she  came, 
she's  never  been  to  a  business  meeting.  For  my 
part,  I  think  we've  got  just  as  good  a  right  to  vote 
in  Church  meeting  as  the  men,  and  speak  too,  if  we 
want  to,  though  Deacon  Smith  has  set  his  face  against 
it  of  late  years.  So,  you  see,  I'll  have  to  go ;  and 
there's  only  the  facing  to  face  down,  and  them  seams 
to  stitch  up,  and  the  hooks  and  eyes  to  go  on.  The 
sleeves  are  all  ready  to  baste  in — O,  and  there's  the 
bones ;  but  bones  are  nothing  to  put  in,  especially  as 
John  Lockwood  is  to  be  dealt  with  to-night  for  going 
to  the  theater  last  time  he  was  in  New- York.  For 
my  part,  I  never  did  put  much  confidence  in  his  re- 
ligion ;  and  the  more  some  of  us  stay  away,  the  more 
the  rest  of  us  ought  to  go.  Don't  forget  to  take  in 
that  shoulder  seam  a  little.  For  my  part,  I  think  his 
sister  ought  to  be  labored  with  for  singing  such 
songs  as  she  does  on  the  piano:  clear  love  songs, 
and  plays  opera  pieces,  Miss  Allen  says.  Now 
which  is  the  worst,  I'd  like  to  know,  going  to  the 
theater,  or  playing  opera  pieces?  Miss  Hubbard's 
Jane  does  that,  when  she's  at  home  in  vacation, 
though.  That  piece  under  the  arm  don't  look  so 
very  bad,  Miss  Snelling — there  ain't  more'n  two 
hours'  work,  any  way." 


76  CHAKITY    ENVIETH    NOT. 

| 

Two  hours'  work  to  a  person  who  could  scarcely 
get  time  to  do  her  own  mending  from  week  to  week, 
was  no  trifle.  Mrs.  Snelling  wavered  for  a  little 
time  between  the  accumulated  pile  of  dilapidated 
under-clothes  in  the  willow  basket  and  the  unfinish- 
ed dress;  but  the  dress  must  be  done  before  New- 
Year's  day,  now  close  at  hand,  and  she  lighted  an- 
other lamp,  and  drew  her  little  work-stand  up  to 
the  fire,  as  the  clock  struck  eight.  Her  mind  had 
opened  itself  to  discontented  thoughts  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  "  the  enemy  had  come  in  like  a  flood,"  until 
all  the  brightness  of  her  life  had  been  swept  out 
of  sight.  She  saw  only  the  successive  woes  of  ill- 
health,  loss,  and  wearing  anxiety,  which  had  rolled 
over  them  in  the  past,  and  a  blank,  dreary  prospect 
in  the  future.  Her  very  occupation  reminded  her 
of  it.  If  she  could  have  afforded  Miss  Prime's  as- 
sistance two  days  instead  of  one,  she  might  have  got 
ahead  in  her  sewing  a  little ;  now  here  was  another 
drawback,  and  she  had  so  little  time.  And  "  There 
was  Susan  Hubbard ;  but  then  she  did  not  give  up 
everything  to  dress  and  display,  thank  goodness !  as 
Susan  Hubbard  did,  bringing  scandal  in  the  Church, 
and  setting  herself  up  over  everybody." 

A  knock  at  the  front  door  was  a  fresh  annoyance ; 
for  her  work  had  to  be  put  down  again,  and  the  sick 
boy  quieted,  before  Mrs.  Snelling  went  shivering 
through  the  cold  to  answer  it. 


CHARITY    ENVIETH    NOT.  77 

4p 
The  neighborly  visitor  was  no  other  than  Mrs. 

Hubbard  ;  and  "  no  fire  except  in  the  kitchen,"  was 
Mrs.  Snelling's  first  thought,  as  she  recognized  her 
with  admixed  feeling  of  gratification,  "hard  thoughts," 
and  curiosity.  Certainly  it  was  a  curious  coinci- 
dence that  the  person  who  had  formed  the  subject  of 
her  thoughts  and  conversation  so  much  of  the  day, 
should  suddenly  appear. 

"  Don't  mind  me,"  Mrs.  Hubbard  said,  pleasantly, 
stepping  on  before  her  old  neighbor.  "  This  way,  I 
suppose."  And  she  led  the  way  to  the  kitchen  her- 
self, thus  avoiding  the  necessity  of  an  apology  on  the 
part  of  Mrs.  Snelling.'  "How  bright  and  cheerful  a 
cook  stove  looks,  after  all !  and  your  kitchen  always 
was  as  neat  as  wax.  We  never  used  to  keep  but  one 
fire,  you  know." 

This  last  was  an  unfortunate  allusion.  Mrs.  Snell- 
ing's softening  face  grew  coldly  rigid  at  what  she 
considered  an  attempt  to  patronize  her. 

"  Poor  folks  had  to,"  she  said,  taking  up  her  work, 
and  stitching  away  vigorously. 

"  I  haven't  forgotten  old  times,  Jane,"  Mrs.  Hub- 
Lard  went  on,  not  caring  to  notice  the  ungracious 
tone  in  which  this  remark  was  made,  "when  we 
were  all  .beginning  the  world  together.  You  seem 
to,  though,  for  then  you  used  to  run  in  and  see  me, 
and  I  was  thinking  to-night  you  haven't  been  up  to 
our  house  since  October." 


78  CHAEITY    ENVIETH    NOT. 

Mrs.  Snelling  began  to  say  something  about  "  not 
going  where  she  was  not  wanted ;"  bnt  it  died  away 
lower  and  lower  when  she  remembered  that  Mrs. 
Hubbard  had  been  in  twice  since  then.  ^ 

"I  know  you  have  a  great  deal  to  keep  you  at 
home ;  I  know  how  it  used  to  be  when  my  children 
were  little.  You  didn't  let  me  pay  three  visits  to 
your  one  then,  Jane." 

Mrs.  H.  drew  her  thimble  from  her  pocket,  and 
took  up  the  top  piece  of  mending  from  the  big  wil- 
low basket,  in  the  most  natural  manner. 

"  I  can  work  and  talk  too,  you  know.  Mr.  Hub- 
bard  has  gone  to  Church  meeting ;  but  I  don't  think 
it's  exactly  our  place  to  attend  to  Church  discipline ; 
we  women  are  so  apt  to  make  a  bad  matter  worse 
by  talking  it  over  among  each  other,  and  to  people 
that  it  doesn't  concern.  So  I  thought  I'd  just  run  in 
sociably  and  bring  my  thimble,  as  we  used  to  do  for 
each  other." 

Mrs.  Snelling  would  have  said,  half  an  hour  ago, 
that  she  was  completely  fortified  against  Mrs.  Hub- 
bard's  advances,  in  what  shape  soever;  but  she 
began  to  find  a  mist  gathering  in  her  eyes,  as  that 
old  kindness  and  affection  came  stealing  back  again 
in  recollection.  But  Mrs.  Hubbard  was  a  wise 
woman,  and  she  knew  that  a  friend  aggrieved  was 
hard  to  win,  whether  the  offense  had  been  intention- 
al or  not. 


CHARITY    ENVIETH    NOT.  79 

"  It's  pretty  hard  work  to  live  right,  isn't  it  ?"  she 
Baid,  verging  round  again  to  the  old  subject,  after  a 
little  talk  about  the  roads  and  the  weather.  "  Every 
lot  in.  life  has  its  trials.  I  used  to  look  at  rich  people, 
and  think  that  they  hadn't  a  care  in  the  world ;  but 
now  Mr.  Hubbard  has  done  so  well,  we  have  to  live 
differently  and  dress  differently,  and  there's  no  end 
to  looking  after  things.  I  used  to  work  hard  all  day, 
and  when  the  children  were .  asleep  in  the  evening, 
sit  down  comfortably  to  sew  or  read;  but  there's 
something  or  somebody  to  see  to,  to  the  last  minute. 
To  be  sure,  as  far  as  dress  is  concerned,  I  don't  think 
half  so  much  of  it  now  as  I  used  to,  when  I  had  to 
plan  and  contrive  about  every  cent.  Why,  I  often 
used  to  find  myself  planning  about  my  sewing  in  ser- 
mon time,  if  you  will  believe  it,  and  how  I  should 
get  the  girls  two  dresses  out  of  one  of  mine.  To  be 
sure,  I  have  no  such  temptations  now." 

Mrs.  Snelling  looked  up  suddenly,  as  the  recol- 
lection of  her  Sunday  plan  about  the  cape  came 
into  her  mind.  Could  it  be  that  to  Him  unto 
whom  all  hearts  are  open,  she  had  been  the  less 
sincere  worshiper  of  the  two ! 

"I  should  like  to  try  a  little  prosperity  by  way 
of  a.  change,"  she  said,  more  pleasantly  than  she 
had  last  spoken,  but  still  with  bitterness  beneath. 
"  Fm  tired  of  slaving." 

"O,  Jane!"  Mrs.  Hubbard  said  quickly,  "don't 


80  CHARITY    ENVIETH    NOT. 

choose,  don't  choose  your  trials.  I  used  to  say 
that  very  thing,  and  that  it  was  well  enough  for 
rich  people  to  preach."  Mrs.  Snelling  saw  the 
painful  expression  that  crossed  her  friend's  face> 
and  the  current  report  of  young  Robert  Hub- 
bard's  dissipation  came  into  her  mind.  "  Every- 
body has  his  own  troubles;  some  don't  stand  out 
as  plain  as  others,  and  don't  get  so  much  pity.  Rich 
people  get  very  little,  and  they  have  hard  work 
enough  to  bring  up  their  children  right,  and  live 
in  peace  and  charity  with  all.  I've  got  so  now  I 
only  ask  for  patience  to  bear  the  trial  of  the  time, 
instead  of  praying  to  have  it  changed,  and  think- 
ing that  I  could  bear  any  other  better." 

The  two  women  sewed  in  silence  for  a  little 
while ;  each  heart  knew  its  own  bitterness. 

"Jane,"  Mrs.  Hubbard  said,  stopping  suddenly 
and  looking  into  the  bright  grate  in  front  of  the 
stove,  "shall  I  tell  you  what  this  puts  me  in 
mind  of,  seeing  this  nice,  bright  cooking-stove?  of 
that  New- Year's  night,  the  winter  Robert  was 
sick,  and  our  children  were  all  little,  when  you 
came  round  and  brought  them  over  to  spend  the 
afternoon,  and  boiled  candy  for  them,  and  let  them 
pop  corn.  They  brought  us  home  a  plateful  of 
braided  sticks.  Poor  little  things !  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  you,  they  wouldn't  have  had  so  much  as  a  pin 
for  a  New- Year's  present;  their  father  was  so  sick 


CHARITY    ENVIETH    NOT.  81 

and  I  was  so  worn  out.  Why,  only  think,  they 
had  been  teasing  me  to  buy  them  some  candy,  and 
I  did  not  feel  that  I  could  afford  that  quart  of  mo- 
lasses !  I've  thought  of  it  often  and  often  since. 
Somehow,  this  winter  there's  scarcely  a  day  when 
it  doesn't  come  to  my  mind,  and  I  always  feel 
like  crying." 

.  Mrs.  Snelling  was  crying,  as  Mrs.  Hubbard's 
voice  faltered  more  and  more;  she  did  not  attempt 
to  conceal  it ;  she  remembered  that  New  Year's 
day  so  well,  and  how  she  pitied  Susan's  poor  lit- 
tle boys,  and  brought  them  home,  and  made  them 
as  happy  as  children  could  be  made,  in  the  very 
kindness  of  her  warm  heart.  The  long  struggle 
with  poverty  and  care  had  not  seared  it  after  all. 

"Don't  cry,  Jane;  but  you  won't  mind,  and  won't 
misunderstand  me  now,  if  I've  bought  you  a  New- 
Year's  present  of  a  dress?  I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't 
take  it  as  it  was  meant,  if  I  just  sent  it.  Here  it 
is."  And  Mrs.  Hubbard  unrolled  the  very  raw  silk 
plaid  Mrs.  Snelling  had  so  long  coveted.  "I  wanted 
it  to  be  useful,  and  I  went  down  to  get  a  cashmere 
Like  mine ;  but  you  happened  to  be  there  when  I 
went  in,  and  I  saw  how  long  you  looked  at  this." 

Mrs.  Snelling  remembered  the  day,  and  that  she 
had  come  home  thinking  Mrs.  Hubbard  felt  too 
grand  to  talk  to  her  before  the  clerks. 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  find  me  out,  and  BO  1 


82  CHARITY    ENVIETH    NOT. 

kept  at  the  other  end  of  the  store.  Now  you  will 
not  misunderstand  me,  will  you,  Jane  ?" 

"O,  Susan,  I  had  such  hard  thoughts,  you  don't 
know."  And  Mrs.  Snelling  put  her  apron  up  to 
her  eyes,  instead  of  looking  at  the  new  silk. 

"Never  mind  that  now,  it's  only  natural.  I 
could  see  just  how  you  felt,  for  the  more  I  tried 
to  be  neighborly  the  colder  you  got.  It  has  griev- 
ed me  a  good  deal.  But  about  the  dress.  Ann 
was  not  very  busy,  and  so  I  had  her  make  the 
skirt,  as  we  could  wear  each  other's  dresses  in  old 
times,  and  every  little  helps  when  a  person  has  a 
deal  to  do;  if  you  will  let  me  know  when  Miss 
Prime  comes  to  make  it  up,  she  shall  come  over 
and  sew  for  her." 

"Charity  is  not  easily  provoked,  suffereth  long, 
and  is  kind,"  was  the  minister's  text  the  next  Sun- 
day; but  Mrs.  Snelling  thought  of  a  better  illus- 
tration than  any  he  could  offer,  and  noted  the 
rest  of  the  verse  with  humiliation — CHABITY  ENVI- 

ETH  NOT. 


THE 


ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PEEACHEE. 


THE 

ELOQUENT   NEGRO  PREACHER. 


CHAPTEK  I...  v 

ENGAGED  on  a  missionary  reconnoiter  in  North- 
western Missouri,  I  started,  on  the  5th  of ,  in  the 

year ,  from  the  city  of  St.  Louis,  then  a  compara- 
tively little  city,  to  my  destination,  distant  between 
three  and  four  hundred  miles.  A  few  days'  travel 
plunged  me  into  a  ^wilderness  well-nigh  pathless,  with 
but  here  and  there,  at  long  intervals,  a  rude  and  soli- 
tary cabin.  The  proximity,  however,  of  these  "palaces 
of  our  Puritan  fathers,"  at  some  of  the  eligible  points 
on  the  water-courses,  was  such  as  to  dignify  the  region 
with  the  title  of  "  settlements." 

Sojourning  for  a  day  at  one  of  these,  and  preaching 
to  a  congregation  of  scarce  over  a  dozen,  children  and 
watch-dogs  excepted,  I  was  pleased  to  learn  that  a 
camp-meeting  was  then  pending  at  the  next  settle- 
ment, distant  some  twenty  miles,  held  by  our  "  Free- 
will Baptist"  brethren,  accompanied  by  a  cordial 


»86   THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

invitation  to  attend,  by  an  official  of  that  order.  I 
also  learned  that  the  chief  attraction  of  the  occasion, 
as  it  respected  ministerial  ability,  was  a  colored 
preacher  by  the  name  of  Carper,  an  emancipated 
slave  from  Tennessee,  greatly  celebrated  (and  as  we 
shall  see  presently,  justly)  for.  his  impassioned  elo- 
quence. My  hospitable  host  and  hostess  dwelt  upon 
his  merits  in  terms  of  the  most  emphatic  eulogy. 
"  He's  a  mighty  great  preacher :  he  knows  a  heap  : 
he's  powerful,  at  'splanin'  the  Scripters,"  said  the 
former.  But  here  (and  it  seemed  a  thing  to  which 
he  was  used)  he  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  his 
loving  spouse,  a  plump,  neat,  little,  short,  scarlet- 
cheeked,  nimble-motioned  woman,  with  a  rather 
palish  blue  eye,  that  reposed  in  its  artless  purity 
like  the  maiden  moon  in  the  sky's  blue  depth.  Her 
hair  was  flaxen,  with  an  auburn  tinge,  seeming  scru- 
pulously to  eschew  the  red.  Her  lips  were  neither 
thick  nor  thin — a  happy  medium.  She  would  not 
fly  into  a  pet,  nor  pout  when  she  was  in  one  ;  a  rare 
union  of  "  spunk"  and  patience,  possessing  enough  of 
the  former  to  take  fire  in  a  moment,  if  there  were  , 
really  an  occasion ;  and  enough  of  the  latter,  not 
indeed  to  think  before  she  spoke  under  provocation, 
but  to  consider  after  she  had  spoken,  and  take  back 
what  was  rashly  said. 

With  a  nice  little  foot  in  a  mongrel  shoe,  something 
"between  a  shoe  and  a  moccasin,  a  clean  "linsey" 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.   87 

dress,  check  apron,  and  a  cotton  handkerchief  about 
her  neck,  she  was  busily  engaged  in  frying  a  skillet 
of  venison  and  baking  the  "  corn-cake"  over  a  huge 
hearth-fire,  and  restraining  sundry  little,  tow-headed, 
half-clad,  shoeless  responsibilities,  anxious  to  antici- 
pate the  inviting  repast,  when,  hearing  the  name  of 
the  favorite  preacher  called,  accompanied  by  some- 
thing said  in  his  praise,  she  whirled  round  like  a  top, 
and  with  her  husband's  large  hunting-knife  in  her 
hand,  she  commenced,  accompanying  each  sentence 
with  a  most  emphatic  and  often  not  graceless  gesture : 

"  Why,  Brother  W.,  he's  a  posey  of  a  preacher ; 
he's  a  perfect  flowing  stream;  he's  a  thur  erbolt; 
he's  elokent,  so  he  is ;  he's  flowery  as  a  prairie  in 
June  ;  he's  an  eagle  on  the  mountain  peak ;  he's  an  . 
elk  in  the  tall  grass  ;  a  son  of  the  morning ;  he's  a 
caution — the  highest  larnt  nigger  ye  ever  seed.  Why, 
I've  seed  'urn  fall  under  his  preach'n  as  if  they  were 
shot,  and  a  dozen  jump  and  shout  glory  at  once :  I 
tell  ye,  he's  a  screamer,  all  the  way  from  old  Ten- 
nessee." 

Here  I  smiled  and  ejaculated  astonishment,  and 
her  good-natured  consort  looked  and  nodded  assent. 
By  the  way,  he  was  a  marked  specimen  of  a  far  West 
"  squatter,"  (there  was  a  far  West  in  those  days,)  a 
class  of  semi-civilized  preemptioners,  that  kept  gen- 
erally in  advance  of  the  chain  and  compass,  taking 
their  meat  chiefly  from  the  woods  and  the  waves; 


88   THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

pasturing  their  flocks  in  those  limitless  meadows,  out 
of  whose  flowery  bosom  the  sun  seems  to  come  forth 
in  the  morning,  and  into  which  it  seems  again  to 
nestle  in  the  evening ;  raising  their  scanty  supply  of 
bread  on  some  of  the  alluvial  deltas  of  the  numberless 
streams  that  interlace,  like  fillets  of  silver,  the  broad 
lands  of  our  Columbian  Canaan.  Pioneers  of  the 
pioneers  compose  this  class.  Often  for  years  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  publican,  the  pedagogue,  and  the 
preacher,  they  are  "  a  law  unto  themselves."  Neces- 
sity is  the  parent  of  their  arts,  mutual  interest  the 
mother  of  their  morals,  and  tradition  and  instinct  the 
chief  sources  of  their  better  hopes ;  artless  and  igno 
rant,  with  less  of  guile  than  many  who  know  more. 
.Knowledge,  wealth,  power,  and  place,  much  oftener, 
as  yet,  minister  to  corruption  in  this  world,  than  to 
virtue. 

Mine  host  was  a  man  of  high  cheek  bones,  long, 
projecting,  and  angular  chin;  mouth  large  and  sunk- 
en, as  many  teeth  were  minus ;  nose  long,  but  it 
had  failed  to  "come  to  a  point,"  and  was  a  little 
flattened;  eyes  small  and  of  a  darkish  gray,  not  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  apart ;  forehead  high  and  not 
retreating,  but  projecting;  big  head,  with  dark  bushy 
hair ;  sallow  countenance,  with  small  neck ;  long, 
brawny  limbs,  with  short  body.  Attired  in  a  hunt- 
ing shirt  with  a  leathern  girdle  about  him,  mocca- 
ains,  and  a  pair  of  doeskin  galligaskins,  much  op- 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.    89 

posed  in  their  lower  extremities  to  the  extension 
of  territory,  he  sat  upon  a  rude  bench,  leaning  for- 
ward like  a  half-open  jack-knife,  listening  with 
delight  to  the  somewhat  poetic  eulogy  of  his  better 
half  on  the  famous  negro  orator. 

Our  friend,  it  will  be  perceived,  was  the  very 
impersonation  of  a  take-life-easy  kind  of  a  genius. 
A  little  hen-pecked,  (lie  richly  deserved  it,)  but  he 
did  not  know  it;  one  instance,  at  least,  in  which 
"  ignorance  is  bliss."  His  heart  reposed  amid  the 
"  olive  plants,"  and  they  were  not  few,  that  girdled, 
greedily,  the  frugal  table  of  his  forest  home,  like 
the  downy  bird  that  nestleth  in  the  gaudy  foliage 
of  the  rose  bush,  and  feeleth  not  its  thorn.  What 
solicitude  should  he  feel  about  the  future  of  his 
dear  ones  ?  He  had  been  flung  into  the  woods  from 
birth,  helped  himself  and  fared  well  enough,  and 
so  might  they.  The  oldest,  not  over  fifteen,  could 
read  an  easy  chapter  in  the  Bible,  by  spelling  the 
hard  words;  for  the  rest,  they  mostly  knew  their 
letters;  the  girls  could  hoe  corn,  hatchel  flax,  and 
spin;  the  boys  were  a  dead  shot,  could  shave  the 
ear  of  a  black  squirrel  with  a  rifle-ball,  in  the  top 
of  the  tallest  tree,  and  heart  a  buck  at  a  hundred 
yards.  In  fact,  our  friend  seemed  greatly  animated 
with  the  thought  of  the  distinguished  spheres  in  the 
world  which  his  children  bid  so  fair  to  fill. 

Our  friend's  head  was  not  so  large  for  nothing. 


90    THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

The  world,  to  him,  was  very  large  and  flat,  for  it 
looked  so ;  and  the  stars  high  and  little  for  the  same 
reason.  He  was  an  adept,  also,  in  at  least  some  of 
Shakspeare's  philosophy : 

"  I  know  that  the  more  one  sickens  the  less  at  ease  he  is ; 
That  the  property  of  rain  is  to  wet,  and  fire  to  burn ; 
That  good  pasture  makes  fat  sheep,  and  tha't  a 
Great  cause  of  the  night,  is  lack  of  the  sun." 

But  religion  in  the  sublimity  of  its  simplicity 
meets  the  wants  of  man  in  his  intellectual  infancy. 
Mind  that  scarcely  buds  here  may  still  feel  the 
genial  warmth  of  her  light,  and  shall  blossom  here- 
after in  the  mellow  morning  of  her  radiance.  "The 
fool  shall  not"  fatally  "  err"  in  his  faith.  Our  friend 
believed  that  Jesus  saved  him ;  and  that  death  would 
hand  him  through  the  grave  to  the  embrace  of 
angels.  He  believed,  too,  that  his  cherub  boy, 
("  the  smartest  child  he  had  ever  had,")  whose  lonely 
grave,  uppiled  with  rough  stones,  was  by  the  root 
of  an  old  oaken  tree,  in  the  depths  of  the  dark  wild- 
wood,  would  fly  to  him  then,  on  wings  of  snowy 
white,  and  clasp  his  little  arms  about  his  neck,  dry 
the  last  damps  of  grief  from  his  cheek  with  his 
kisses  of  rapture,  and  sing  in  his  bosom  such  luscious 
lullabies  as  infant  angels  soothe  themselves  to  sleep 
on  in  the  land  of  souls.  Higher  motives  for  his 
unlettered  faith  might  have  bewildered  rather  than 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.    91 

have  nurtured  it.  In  the  work  of  reform  in  the 
ruder  phases  of  society,  feeling  has  often  in  a  grteat 
measure  to  be  substituted  for  tJwnhmg.  Few  are 
found  who  can  be  made  to  think ;  all  can  be  made 
to  feel.  And  the  attempt  to  exalt  thinking  at  the 
expense  of  feeling  has  always  involved  the  kid- 
gloved,  college-made  missionary  for  the  far  West  in 
a  "  splendid  failure."  "  The  pulpit  pounder,"  and 
the  pounder  of  benches  and  crazy  tables  for  the 
want  of  pulpits  to  pound,  the  man  of  noise  rather 
than  niceties,  of  sound  rather  than  sense,  the  man 
of  stentorian  lungs,  wet  eyes,  and  tiny  brain,  among 
the  cabins  that  first  dotted  our  Southwestern  frontier, 
has  had  his  mission  of  power.  But  how  absurd  and 
how  little  in  accordance  with  the  progressive  spirit 
of  the  age,  would  be  a  system  of  Church  policy  that 
should  attempt  to  palm  such  preachers  on  a  people 
more  intellectually  advanced,  and  plead  the  precedent 
of  such  examples. 

"  Man  wants  but  little  here  below,    ' . 
Nor  wants  that  little  long." 

In  this  sentiment  our  friend  seemed  truly  orthodox, 
and  showed  his  faith  by  his  works.  Astronomy  or 
botany  could  be  studied  through  his  cabin  by  looking 
in  almost  any  direction.  The  crazy,  clap-board  doors 
sagged  and  creaked  on  their  wooden  hinges  as  if 
the  tails  of  half  of  Samson's  foxes  had  suddenly  been 


92   THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

caught  in  a  vice.  Undermined  by  wood  mice,  two 
corners  of  the  house,  diagonally,  had  sunk  a  foot  lower 
than  the  other  two.  The  ridge  pole  swayed  low  in 
the  center,  giving  the  roof  a  saddle-like  shape.  The 
stick  chimney,  as  if  conceiving  an  aversion  for  its 
partner,  leaned  from  the  house  at  an  angle  of  forty 
five  degrees,  and  was  propped  up  with  a  pole.  A 
poultry  roost  was  between  the  upper  half  of  the 
chimney  and  the  gable  of  the  house,  as  a  protection 
against  the  wild  "  varmints."  In  short,  our  friend's 
"lodge  in  the  vast  wilderness"  looked  much  like  a 
black  cocked  hat,  a  little  "  tattered  and  torn."  On 
its  outer  walls  were  stretched  for  preservation  the 
skins  of  the  raccoon,  deer,  and  opossum.  On  its 
inner,  and  from  its  joists,  hung  strings  of  dried 
pumpkin,  commingled  with  skeins  of  flax  thread, 
jerked  meats,  clusters  of  choice  corn,  divers  roots 
and  "  'erbs,"  and  filleted  bunches  of  spearmint,  cat- 
nip, and  pennyroyal,  the  rarities  and  materia  medico, 
of  backwoodsdom,  (pity  that  they  should  ever  be 
superseded.)  The  trusty  rifle  reposed  on  two  wooden 
hooks  just  over  the  door.  One  oblong  room  served 
all  purposes  well,  for  which  various  rooms  in  domi- 
cils  were  ever  thought  of.  Three  large  watch-dogs 
kept  sentry  at  the  door,  and  a  little  up-backed 
wiffet  shared  with  grimalkin  the  "  privileges  of  the 
house." 

Our  friend's  farm  corresponded  with  all  else.    It 


ELOQUENT    NEGRO   PREACHER.      93 

consisted  of  a  few  weedy  acres  of  prairie  land,  in- 
closed in  a  zigzag  fence,  and  in  no  shape  known  in 
geometiy.  A  fragile,  bell-topped  corn-crib,  and  a 
nondescript  inclosure  of  logs  with  a  hollow  tree-boll 
for  a  manger,  constituted  the  out-buildings.  A  living 
spring  bubbled  up  at  the  base  of  an  abrupt  hill,  a  few 
paces  distant;  and  its  pebbled  brooklet  meandered 
through  the  unfenced  door-yard,  and  sung  its  cease- 
less solo  to  the  gabble  of  geese,  the  barking  of 
curs,  and  the  uproarious  laugh  of  a  dozen  gipsy- 
looking,  squalid  children  ;  and  then  stretched  away, 
widening  as  it  went,  through  wild  meadows  which 
fringed  its  banks  with  a  profusion  of  nameless  under- 
growth, which  bent  as  if  to  worship  its  refreshing 
presence,  and  interweave  garlands  of  votive  flowers 
in  the  flashing  sheen  of  its  crystal  bosom,  until  it 
mingled  its  murmurings,  melodies,  and  the  cymbal- 
noted  cadences  of  its  tiny  cascades  with  the  majestic 
meanings  of  age-nursed  forests,  and  was  lost  to  the 
view.  Over  the  up-welling  fountain  was  reared  a 
rude  little  structure,  "  the  spring-house,"  over  whose 
floor  of  rock  flowed  the  ice-cold  fountain,  and  in 
which  was  deposited  for  safe  keeping  the  surplus  of 
the  scanty  dairy.  Snowy  nectar  and  golden  treasure, 
how  sweet  were  ye  to  the  taste  of  the  weary  itinerant! 
Bees,  hived  in  the  hollow  trunk  of  a  tree,  were  hum- 
ming their  industrial  songs,  as  they  flew  to  their  work 
of  sweetness;  a  gorgeous  unroll  of  luxuriant  green 


94   THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

and  floral  beauty  lay,  sea-like,  around  me,  under  the 
golden  smile  of  a  June  sun,  softened  and  mellowed 
by  the  aerial  haze  of  the  season,  which  spread  over 
the  hills  and  valleys  like  a  gauzy  vail  on  the  virgin 
face  of  beauty,  as  I  went  to  the  spring  with  my  good, 
easy,  contented  host,  while  our  frugal  dinner  was 
being  spread  on  a  table  of  cleft  boards.  *  V 

Returning  to  full  trenchers,  tin  cups  of  milk,  gourds 
of  wild  honey,  and  hot  hoe-cakes,  it  seemed  appropri- 
ate over  the  table  to  quote  and  comment  upon  the 
text,  "  Butter  and  honey  shall  he  eat ;  his  bread  shall 
be  given  him,  and  his  waters  shall  be  sure,"  etc. 
Waxing  warm  in  my  exegesis,  our  little  voluble 
landlady  in  linsey  laid  down-  her  pewter  fork,  and 
exclaimed,  "  Well,  who  ever  hearn  the  like !  if  that 
don't  come  up  to  Carper." 

"  Yeas,"  replied  mine  host,  with  a  dampened  eye, 
"  it's  ezactly  so  ;  I  always  kind  a  knowed  it  to  be  so ; 
but  what  a  mighty  good  thing  deep  larnin'  is  arter 
all !  I've  always  had  luck  in  huntin'  if  my  corn  does 
grow  rather  sorry." 

"  I  guess  as  how,"  said  his  wife,  in  a  tone  that 
showed  that  she  meant  to  be  understood,  by  her 
husband  at  least,  rather  affirmatively  than  interrog- 
atively, "I  guess  as  how  the  boys  don't  hoe  it 
enough !" 

I  glanced  at  the  stunted,  weedy  corn  through  the 
open  door,  and  thought  to  myself,  "  How  many  who 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.    95 

complain  at  the  scanty  supply  of  Providence,  only 
prove  by  their  nmrmurings  that  '  they  don't  hoe  it 
enough !' r 

The  next  day  we  were  all  en  route  for  camp- 
meetmg,  where  we  arrived  just  as  our  sable  orator 
arose  to  officiate.  Sans  ceremony,  and  declining 
all,  I  took  my  seat  with  the  congregation,  which  I 
perceived  was  large  for  the  country,  numbering 
perhaps  three  hundred.  We  scanned  with  no 
small  interest  the  occupant  of  the  "stand."  He 
was  a  light-colored  mulatto,  age  about  fifty,  a  little 
corpulent,  mouth  large  and  well-formed,  eyes  rather 
small,  chestnut-colored,  looking  a  little  dull,  but 
lighting  up  with  fire  as  he  became  excited.  His 
brow  was  square,  prominent,  and  retreating.  In  a 
word,  his  form  was  symmetrical,  and  countenance 
more  intellectual  than  any  one  of  his  race  I  had 
ever  seen;  nor  have  I  since,  in  this  respect,  ever 
met  his  equal,  either  indicatively  or  in  fact.  So- 
lemnity, simplicity,  dignity,  and  sincerity  marked 
his  progress  through  the  preliminaries.  He  pos- 
sessed but  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  letters; 
read  with  hesitancy  and  inaccuracy ;  seeming  to 
depend  less  upon  the  text  to  guide  him,  than  his 
memory.  He  spoke  in  the  true  negro  dialect,  but 
seemed  to  employ  a  refined,  if  you  please,  a  classic 
species.  It  rolled  from  his  lips  with  a  sharpness 
of  outline  and  distinctness  of  enunciation  tha* 


96   THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

seemed  to  impart  to  it  a  polish  and  a  charm,  trans- 
forming it  into  the  language  of  beauty.  Some  sen- 
tences in  his  prayer  are  note-worthy,  as  furnishing 
a  fair  specimen  of  that  artless  eloquence  that 
flowed  as  natural  from  his  lips,  and  as  fresh  and 
sparkling,  and  seemingly  as  exhaustless  as  a  mount- 
ain cascade.  "O  Load,  dou  art  bery  great;  all 
else  but  dee  is  as  notting,  and  less  dan  netting;  dou 
touchest  de  mountains  and  dey  smoke ;  dou  boldest 
de  great  and  mighty  sea  in  de  hollow  ob  dine 
hand,  and  takest  up  de  isles  as  a  bery  little  ting, 
and  at  dine  rebukes  de  pillars  ob  heben  shudder, 
and  at  dine  purity  de  angels  turn  pale,"  &c.  "O 
Load,  send  de  Star  ob  Bethlehem  to  shine  in  all 
lands,  and  de  angels  ob  de  manger  cradle  to  sing 
in  all  countries,  dat  de  world  may  be  full  ob  de 
light  ob  lobe,  and  de  musk;  ob  salvation,  and  be 
so  mightily  like  heben,  dat  when  de  souls  ob  de 
good  come  back  again  to  de  world  dey  may  scarce 
know  de  difference,"  etc.  "O  Load,  gader  all 
classes  and  colors  to  de  cross,  bind  de  parted  na- 
tions togeder  in  a  bond  ob  lobe,  strong  as  de  chain 
of  dine  eternal  decrees,  and  lasting  as  all  ages  to 
come."  His  sermon,  which  followed,  was  jeweled 
with  sentences  of  similar,  and  even  surpassing 
merit,  uttered  with  a  well-controlled  and  musical 
voice,  with  brimful  eyes,  and  a  pathos  and  power 
which  it  is  less  difficult  to  remember  than  not  to 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.    97 

envy.  One  would  forget  the  visit  of  an  angel  as 
soon  as  the  blazing  countenance  and  magic  mis- 
sion of  the  orator,  who  plays  at  will  with  his  heart 
strings.  Listening  to  the  preacher,  my  delight  was 
only  excelled  by  my  astonishment.  Losing  sight 
of  color,  and  the  degradation  of  his  race,  I  rever- 
enced, in  an  unlettered  African  slave,  the  genius  of 
an  Apollos  and  the  force  of  an  apostle.  At  the 
close  of  each  of  his  periods  of  fire,  a  volley  of 
"amens"  from  the  pious  of  his  excitable  audience, 
pealed  up  to  heaven  until  the  pendent  boughs  over 
our  heads  seemed  to  wave  in  the  ascending  gusts 
of  devotion.  Of  the  length  of  the  sermon,  I  have 
no  recollection.  Of  the  sermon  itself  I  have  the 
most  distinct  recollection.  His  artless  visions,  like 
Hebrew  poetry,  hang  as  pictures  in  the  memory,  to 
which  time  but  adds  additional  life  and  freshness. 
Here  .was  unsophisticated  genius,  artless  as  child- 
hood, strong  as  Hercules,  taught  by  God  only,  as 
were  the  fisherman  founders  of  our  faith,  and  seek- 
ing the  covert  of  the  wilds  of  the  West  to  lavish 
its  sparkling  stores  upon  a  rude  and  fugitive  popu- 
lation. 


98    THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 


CHAHffiR  JDL 

WHAT  follows  is  scarcely  an  outline  of  his  ser- 
inon,  but  rather  a  sketch  of  some  of  its  most  elo- 
quent passages.  He  announced  for  his  text  these 
words: 

"And  a  man  shall  be  as  a  hiding-place  from 
the  wind,  and  a  covert  from  the  tempest;  as  rivers 
of  water  in  a  dry  place,  as  the  shadow  of  a  great 
rock  in  a  weary  land."  Isaiah  xxxii,  2. 

Dare  be  two  kinds  ob  language,  de  literal  and 
de  figerative.  De  one  expresses  de  tought  plainly, 
but  not  passionately;  de  oder  passionately,  but  not 
always  so  plainly.  De  Bible  abounds  wid  bof  dese 
mode  ob  talk.  De  text  is  an  ensample  of  dat  lubly 
stile  of  speech  de  figerative.  De  prophet's  mind 
was  as  clear  as  de  sea  ob  glass  in  de  Rebalations, 
and  mingled  wid  fire.  He  seed  away  down  de  riber 
ob  ages  glorious  coming  events.  He  held  his  ear 
to  de  harp  ob  prophecy,  and  heard  in  its  fainter 
cadences,  loudening  as  he  listened,  de  birf-song  ob 
de  multitude  ob  de  hebenly  host  on  de  meadows  ob 
Bethlehem.  He  seed  de  hills  ob  Judea  tipped  wid 
hebenly  light;  de  fust  sermun  mountin,  and  de 
transfigeration  mountin,  and  de  crucifixion  mountin, 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PBEACHEB.   99 

and  de  mountin  ob  ascension,  clapped  dare  hands 
in  de  prophet's  wision  ob  gladness.  Gray-bearded 
Time  stretched  his  brawny  sinews  to  hasten  on  de 
fullness  of  latter-day  glory.  Brederen,  de  text  am 
as  full  ob  latter-day  glorias  am  de  sun  ob  light 
It  am  as  full  ob  Christ  as  de  body  ob  heben  am  ob 
God.  De  sinner's  danger  and  his  certain  destruc- 
tion ;  Christ's  sabin  lub ;  his  sheltering  grace  and 
his  feasting  goodness  am  brought  to  view  in  de 
text,  and  impressed  in  de  language  ob  comparison. 

"And  a  man  shall  be  as  a  hiding-place  from  de 
wind."  Many  parts  ob  de  ancient  countries  (and  it 
still  am  de  case)  was  desert ;  wild  wastes  ob  dreary 
desolation ;  regions  ob  fine  blistering  sands ;  just  as 
it  was  leff  when  de  flood  went  away,  and  which  has 
not  been  suffered  to  cool  since  de  fust  sunshine  dat 
succeed  dat  event.  No  grass,  no  flower,  no  tree 
dare  be  pleasant  to  de  sight.  A  scene  of  unrelebed 
waste  ;  an  ocean  made  of  powder,  into  which  de 
curse  ob  angered  heben  had  ground  a  portion  ob 
earth.  Now  and  den,  a  huge  rock,  like  shattered 
shafts  and  fallen  monuments  in  a  neglected  grave- 
yard, and  big  enof  to  be  de  tombstone  ob  millions, 
would  liff  its  mossless  sides  'bove  de  'cumulating 
sands.  No  pisnous  sarpint  or  venemous  beast  here 
await  dare  prey,  for  death  here  has  ended  his  work 
and  dwells  mid  silence.  But  de  traveler  here,  who 
adventures,  or  necessity  may  have  made  a  bold 


100  THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

wanderer,  finds  foes  in  de  elements  fatal  and  resist- 
less. De  long  heated  earth  here  at  places  sends  up 
all  kinds  ob  pisnous  gases  from  de  many  minerals  ob 
its  mysterious  bosom ;  dese  tings  take  fire,  and  den 
dare  be  a  tempest  ob  fire,  and  woe  be  to  de  traveler 
dat  be  obertaken  in  dis  fire  ob  de  Lord  widout  a 
shelter.  Again,  dem  gases  be  pison,  and  dare  be  de 
pison  winds,  as  well  as  de  fire  winds.  Dey  can  be 
seen  a  coming,  and  look  green  and  yeller,  and  cop- 
pery, spotted  snake-like,  and  float  and  wave  in  de 
air,  like  pison  coats  on  water,  and  look  like  de 
wing  ob  de  death  angel ;  fly  as  swift  as  de  cloud 
shadow  ober  de  cotton  field,  and  when  dey  obertake 
de  flying  traveler  dey  am  sure  to  prove  his  winding- 
sheet  ;  de  drifting  sands  do  dare  rest,  and  'bliterate 
de  faintest  traces  ob  his  footsteps.  Dis  be  death  in 
de  desert,  'mid  de  wind's  loud  scream  in  your  sand- 
filling  ears  for  a  funeral  seraum,  and  your  grave  hid- 
den foreber.  No  sweet  spring  here  to  weave  her 
hangings  ob  green  'bout  your  lub-guarded  dust.  De 
dews  ob  night  shall  shed  no  tears  'pon  your  famined 
grave.  De  resurrection  angel  alone  can  find  ye. 

But  agin  dis  fire  wind  and  dis  tempest  ob  pison 
dat  widthers  wid  a  bref,  and  mummifies  whole  cara- 
vans and  armies  in  dare  march,  dare  is  one  breast- 
work, one  "  hiding-place,"  one  protecting  "  shadow  " 
in  de  dreaded  desert.  It  am  "  de  shadow  ob  a  great 
rock  in  dis  weary  land."  Often  has  de  weary  trav 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHEE.  101 

eler  seen  death  in  de  distance,  pursuing  him  on  de 
wings  of  de  wind,  and  felt  de  certainty  ob  his  fate 
in  de  darkness  ob  de  furnace-like  air  around  him. 
A  drowsiness  stronger  'most  dan  de  lub  ob  life 
creeps  ober  him,  and  de  jaded  camel  reels  in  -de 
heby  sand-road  under  him.  A  shout  ob  danger  from 
de  more  resolute  captin  ob  de  caravan  am  sent  along 
de  ranks,  prolonged  by  a  thousand  thirst-blistered 
tongues,  commingled  in  one  ceaseless  howl  ob  woe, 
varied  by  ebery  tone  ob  distress  and  despair.  To 
^'  de  great  rock,"  shouts  de  leader  as  'pon  his  Arab 
hoss  he  heads  dis  "  flight  to  de  Refuge."  Behind 
dem  at  a  great  distance,  but  yet  fearfully  near  for 
safety,  is  seed  a  dark  belt  bending  ober  de  horizon, 
and  sparkling  in  its  waby  windings  like  a  great  sar- 
pint,  air  hung  at  a  little  distance  from  de  ground, 
and  advancing  wid  de  swiftness  ob  an  arrow.  Be- 
fore dem,  in  de  distance,  a  mighty  great  rock  spreads 
out  its  broad  and  all-resisting  sides,  lifting  its  nar- 
rowing pint  'bove  the  clouds,  tipped  wid  de  sun's 
fiery  blaze,  which  had  burnt  'pon  it  since  infant  cre- 
ation 'woke  from  de  cradle  ob  kaos  at  de  call  ob  its 
Fader.  [Here  our  sable  orator  pointed  away  to 
some  of  the  spurs  of  the  Ozark  Mountains  seen  off 
to  the  northwest  through  a  forest  opening,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  from  ten  to  fifteen  miles,  and  whose  sum- 
mits of  barren  granite  blazed  in  the  strength  of  a 
clear  June  sun,  like  sheeted  domes  on  distant  cathe- 


102  THE  ELOQUENT  NEQEO  PEEACHEB. 

drals.]  Dat  light  be  de  light  ob  hope,  and  dat  rock 
be  de  rock  ob  hope  to  de  now  flyin',  weepin',  faintin' 
and  famishin'  hundreds.  De  captin'  has  arrived 
dare.  [Here  a  suppressed  cry  of  "Thank  God," 
eseaped  many  of  the  audience.]  See,  he  has  dis- 
appeared behind  it,  perhaps  to  explore  its  cavern 
coverts.  But  see,  he  has  soon  reappeared,  and  wid 
joy  dancing  in  his  eye,  he  stands  shoutin'  and  beck- 
onin',  "Onward,  onward,  ONWARD,  ONWARD,'' 
when  he  reels  from  weariness  and  falls  in  behind  de 
rock.  ["  Thank  God,  he's  saved !"  exclaimed  a  voice.]* 
Onward  dey  rush,  men,  women,  husbands,  wives, 
parents  and  children,  broders  and  sisters,  like  doves 
to  de  windows,  and  disappear  behind  dis  rampart  ob 
salvation.  Some  faint  just  as  dey  'rive  at  de  great 
rock,  and  dare  friends  ran  out  and  drag  dem  to  de 
"  hidin'  place,"  when  wakin'  up  in  safety,  like  dat 
sister  dare,  dat  lose  her  .strength  in  de  prayer-meetin', 
dey  shout  'loud  for  joy.  [Here  many  voices  at  once 
shouted  "  Glory."]  De  darknin'  sand-plain  ober 
which  dese  fled  for  life,  now  lies  strewed  wid  beast, 
giben  out  in  the  struggle,  and  all  useless  burdens  was 
trowed  'side.  De  waby  sheet  ob  destruction,  skim- 
min'  the  surface  wid  de  swiftness  ob  shadow,  now  be 
bery  near,  and  yet,  a  few  feeble  stragglers  and  lub- 
bed  friends  ob  dis  sheltered  multitude  are  yet  a 
great  way  off.  [Here  words  were  uttered  in  a  chok- 
ed accent,  the  speaker  seeming  unable  to  resist  the 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.  108 

thrilling  character  of  the  analogy.]  Yes,  a  great 
way  off.  But  see,  moders  and  broders  from  behind 
de  rock  are  shoutin'  to  dem  to  hasten.  Dey  come, 
dey  come.  A  few  steps  more,  and  dey  are  sabed. 
But  O,  de  pison  wind  is  just  behind  dem,  and*  its 
choke  mist  already  round  dem  !  Dare  one  falls,  and 
dare  is  a  scream.  No,  he  rises  again  and  am  sabed. 
But  one  still  is  exposed.  It  be  de  fader  ob  dat  little 
nest  ob  sweet-eyed  children,  for  which  he  had  fled 
to  de  rear  to  hurry  on.  Dey  have  passed  forward 
and  are  safe.  He  am  but  a  little  distance  from  de 
rock,  and  not  a  head  dares  to  peep  to  him  encourage- 
ment from  behind  it.  Already  de  wings  ob  de  death 
angel  am  on  de  haunches  ob  his  strong  dromedary. 
His  beast  falls,  but  'pon  de  moment  ob  him  falling, 
de  rider  leaps  out  ob  his  saddle  into  dis  "  hiding- 
place  from  de  wind."  His  little  boy  crouched  in  a 
hole  ob  de  rock,  into  which  he  thrusts  his  head, 
entwines  his  neck  with  his  little  arms  and  says, 
"  Papa,  you  hab  come,  and  we  be  all  here."  [Here 
the  shouts  of  "  Salvation,"  "  Salvation,"  seemed  to 
shake  the  place  in  which  we  were  assembled.] 

Now,  de  burnin'  winds  and  de  pison  winds  blow 
and  beat  'pon  dat  rock,  but  dose  who  hab  taken 
refuge  behind  it,  in  its  overhanging  precipices,  are 
safe  until  de  tempest  am  ober  and  gone. 

And  now,  brederen,  what  does  all  dis  represent  in 
a  figure?  Dat  rock  am  Christ;  dem  winds  be  de 


104  THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

wrath  ob  God  rabealed  against  de  children  ob  dis- 
obedience. Dem  that  he  sabed  be  dem  dat  hab 
fled  to  de  refuge,  to  de  hope  set  before  dem  in 
Christ  Jesus  de  Lord.  De  desert  am  de  vast 
howling  wilderness  ob  dis  world,  where  dare  be 
so  little  .ob  lub,  and  so  much  ob  hate;  so  little  ob 
sincerity,  and  so  much  ob  hypocrisy ;  so  little  ob 
good,  and  so  much  ob  sin;  so  little  ob  heben, 
and  so  much  ob  hell.  It  seem  to  poor  me,  dat 
dis  world  am  de  battle-ground  ob  de  debil  and 
his  angels  against  Christ  and  his  elect,  and  if 
de  debil  hab  not  gained  de  victory,  he  hold  pos- 
session because  every  sinner  am  a  Tory.  God 
ob  de  Gospel,  open  the  batteries  of  heben  to-day! 
(Here  a  voltey  of  hearty  "Amens.")  Sinner,  de 
wrath  ob  God  am  gathering  against  you  for  de 
great  decisive  battle.  I  already  sees  in  de  light 
ob  Zina's  lightnings  a  long  embankment  ob  dark 
cloud  down  on  de  sky.  De  tall  thunder  heads 
nod  wid  dare  plumes  of  fire  in  dare  onward 
march.  De  day  of  vengeance  am  at  hand.  Mercy, 
dat  has  pleaded  long  for  you  wid  tears  of  blood, 
will  soon  dry  her  eyes  and  hush  her  prayers  in 
your  behalf.  Death  and  hell  hang  on  your  track 
wid  de  swiftness  ob  de  tempest.  Before  you  am 
de  "  hiding-place."  Fly,  fty,  I  beseeches  you, 
from  de  wrath  to  come! 
But,  brederen,  de  joy  ob  de  belieber  in  Jesus 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.  105 

am  set  forth  in  a  figerative  manner  in  de  text. 
It  am  compared  to  water  to  dem  what  be  dying 
ob  thirst.  O,  how  sweet,  to  de  taste  ob  de  desert 
traveler  sweltering  under  a  burning  sun,  as  if 
creation  was  a  great  furnace!  Water,  sweet, 
sparklin',  livin',  bubblin',  silvery  water,  how  does 
his  languid  eye  brighten  as  he  suddenly  sees  it 
gushing  up  at  his  feet  like  milk  from  de  fount- 
ain ob  lub,  or  leaping  from  de  sides  ob  de 
mountain  rock  like  a  relief  angel  from  heben. 
He  drinks  long  and  gratefully,  and  feels  again 
de  blessed  pulsations  ob  being.  And  so  wid 
de  soul  dat  experience  joy  in  beliebing;  de  sweets 
ob  pardon ;  de  raptures  ob  peace ;  de  witnessin' 
Spirit's  communings,  and  de  quiet  awe  ob  adop- 
tion. Such  a  soul  be  obershadowed  wid  de  Al- 
mighty; he  linger  in  de  shady  retreats  ob  de 
garden  ob  God;  he  feed  in  de  pastures  ob  his 
lub,  and  am  led  by  still  waters,  and  often  visits 
de  land  ob  Beulah,  whare  it  always  am  light. 
But,  my  brederen,  all  comparison  be  too  dispas- 
sionate, and  an  angel's  words  am  too  cold  to 
describe  de  raptures  ob  salvation!  It  am  un- 
speakable and  full  ob  glory.  De  life  ob  inno- 
cence and  prayer;  de  sweet,  childlike  smile  and 
de  swimmin'  eye;  de  countenance  so  glorious  in 
death,  dat  but  for  decay,  de  body  ob  de  gone- 
home  saint  might  be  kept  as  a  breathin'  statue 


106  THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

of  peace  and  patience,  smiling  in  victory  ober 
all  de  sorrows  ob  life  and  de  terrors  ob  death, 
are  de  natural  language  ob  dis  holy  passion.  O, 
glory  to  God !  I  feels  it  to-day  like  fire  in  my 
bones!  Like  a  chained  eagle  my  soul  rises  toward 
her  native  heben,  but  she  can  only  fly  just  so 
high.  But  de  fetters  ob  flesh  shall  fall  off  soon, 
and  den, 

" '  I  shall  bathe  my  weary  soul 
In  seas  oh  hebenly  rest, 
And  not  a  wahe  oh  trouble  roll 
Across  my  peaceful  breast.' " 

The  sun  had  gone  down  in  an  ocean  of  vermilion, 
which  had  melted  away  at  his  setting  into  the  silvery 
radiance  of  countless  stars ;  the  evening  was  not  hot 
nor  sultry,  but  mild  and  invigorating,  and  sweet  as 
the  breath  of  orange  blossoms.  Not  a  breeze  was 
astir  to  wave  or  rustle  the  rich  foliage  of  the  slumber- 
ing forest.  A  mellow  moon  was  half  seen  above  the 
summit  of  a  western  hill,  and  her  broad  smile,  gentle 
as  love,  was  every  moment  adding  enchantment  to 
reality.  "We  were  in  the  bosom  of  the  primitive 
wild-wood,  where  silence,  solitude,  and  beauty  seemed 
the  presiding  deities.  Within  a  small  tented  circle, 
the  camp-fires,  and  a  few  rude  tapers  affixed  to  the 
trunks  of  the  sheltering  trees,  made  all  as  light  as  a 
city  church.  It  was  an  interim  of  worship  from  the 
stand,  and  prayer-meetings  were  in  progress  in  the 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.  107 

tents.  Strolling  out  some  distance  from  the  camp- 
ground to  meditate  on  the  strangeness  and  loveliness 
of  the  scene  about  me,  I  wa§  seated  upon  the  trunk  of 
a  fallen  tree,  watching  the  rising  moon  and  listening 
4o  the  intermingling  songs  and  praises  of  the  forest 
worshipers,  when  I  was  joined,  at  my  own  urgent 
solicitations,  by  "  Brother  Carper"  the  sable  orator, 
whom  we  have  introduced  to  our  readers.  Seeming 
humbled  by  the  interest  I  evinced  in  his  history,  he 
modestly  gave  me  a  hurried  brief  of  it.  He  was 
born  in  "Old  Kentuck."  His  mother  was  a  full 
blooded  negress,  a  favorite  slave,  distinguished  for 
her  intelligence.  His  father,  her  master,  was  a  white 
man,  of  liberal  education,  and  distinguished  by  his 
tact  and  eloquence  in  the  halls  of  legislation.  Of  his 
parentage  on  his  father's  side,  he  was  ignorant  until 
his  death,  knowing  him  only  in  the  relation  of  a  not 
over-lenient  master.  Falling  to  his  son,  (in  fact,  his 
half-brother,)  a  benevolent,  good  man,  his  second 
master,  for  reasons  one  would  think  very  natural, 
seemed  desirous  to  secure  to  him  his  freedom.  His 
master  emigrated  with  his  slaves  to  Tennessee. 
Cwrper  obtained  the  reputation  of  being  "  a  mighty 
smart  and  good  nigger,"  and  his  master  had  refused 
tempting  prices  for  him.  He  had  obtained  religion, 
joined  the  Baptist  Church,  and  was  authorized  to 
preach  to  people  of  color.  His  sermons,  however, 
soon  attracted  the  attention  of  the  whites,  and  he  was 


108  THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHEE. 

considered  an  excellent  preacher  for  a  "  nigger." 
Carper's  success  in  his  sacred  vocation  seemed  but  to 
increase  his  master's  solicitude  for  his  emancipation. 
Liberally  tendering  him  the  privilege  of  self-purchase, 
at  a  price  less  by  one  half  than  he  would  bring  in 
market,  our  genius  in  a  colored  skin  set  himself  about 
the  task,  which,  by  dint  of  hard  work,  and  the 
products  of  a  few  acres  of  ground,  lent  him  for  his 
exclusive  use,  he  was  enabled  to  accomplish  in  about 
three  years.  In  the  meantime  he  had  planned  the 
liberation  of  his  wife,  a  slave  belonging  to  a  neigh- 
boring family,  in  the  same  manner.  But  on  obtaining 
his  own  freedom,  the  family  owning  his  wife  and  two 
children  emigrated  westward,  and  settled  on  the  head 
waters  of  the  Arkansas.  Thither  he  chose  to  accom- 
pany them,  when  the  breaking  out  of  the  cholera  in 
the  family,  consigned  his  wife  and  children,  with  both 
their  old  "  massa  and  missus,"  to  one  common  grave. 
Carper,  the  Negro  Preacher,  was  left  alone  in  the 
world  with  no  other  inheritance  but  his  freedom. 
Subsequently  to  the  time  of  our  "interview,  he 
preached  the  Gospel  pennyless  and  homeless,  but 
beloved,  for  a  few  years  longer  in  this  wild  region, 
when  Providence  offered  him,  and  he  joyfully 
accepted,  the  tenantry  of  a  pine-shaded  grave  on  the 
banks  of  the  St.  Francis  Uiver,  where  he  now  rests 
well,  owning  all  the  way  to  heaven. 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.   109 


CHAPTEE  m. 

HERE  is  another  of  Carper's  sermons.  The  sub- 
ject is  the  "  River  of  the  Water  of  Life." 

"And  he  showed  me  a  pure  river  of  water  of 
life,  clear  as  crystal,  proceeding  out  of  the  throne 
of  God  and  of  the  Lamb."  Rev.  xxii,  1. 

Brederen,  we  all  knows  what  a  ribber  am.  It  am 
a  mighty  pretty  ting,  an'  always  looks  to  me  like 
a  ribbin  danglin'  from  de  bosom  ob  old  moder 
earth.  Dere  be  White  Ribber,  an'  dere  be  Black 
Ribber ;  de  Mississippi  Ribber,  an'  de  Ohio  Ribber ; 
Tennessee  an'  old  Tombigbee,  which  we  used  to 
see  way  down  in  old  Alabama.  How  of 'en  hab 
we  stood  on  de  banks  ob  some  ob  dese  here  rib- 
bers, an'  seed  dere  blue  -or  creamy  waters  move 
along  dotted  an'  dented  wid  eddies  an'  ripples, 
like  de  great  dent  corn  ob  de  big  bottoms ;  an' 
dese  eddies,  whirling  an'  gamboling,  an'  den  melt- 
ing out  into  each  oder,  like  de  smile  ob  welcome 
on  de  face  ob  a  friend,  afore  he  do  you  a  favor, 
an'  seemin'  to  say  ob  de  ribbers,  whose  waters  dey 
adorn,  We  flow  for  all,  an'  flow  on,  on,  foreber. 
What  would  we  do  in  dis  world  widout  ribbers? 
Dey  be  de  servants  ob  de  sea,  an'  as  dat  great 


110  THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

water  press  itself  up  fru  de  earth,  an'  as  de  sun 
an'  de  cloud,  as  de  larnt  men  tell  us,  lift  its  waters 
up  fru  de  air,  to  descend  in  sparklin'  showers  on 
de  hill  an'  de  vale,  de  corn,  cotton,  tobacca,  fill- 
in'  men's  hearts  wid  joy  an'  gladness ;  an'  dese 
ribbers  gedder  de  sea-born  springs  an'  de  cloud- 
born  rains,  an'  return  dem  again  to  dere  home  in 
de  sea,  to  repeat  dere  mission  ob  mercy  to  man! 
De  waters,  brederen,  are  like  circuit-riders,  gwine 
all  de  while  round  an'  round,  doing  good.  O,  how 
we  lub  our  preacher!  when  he  come  round  here 
to  dis  'pointment,  an'  preach  once  a  day  to  us, 
poor  black  people,  telling  us  how  Jesus  died  for 
all,  an'  how  dat  we  shall  be  as  white  as  any  ob 
dem  in  hebben,  an'  sweep  de  gold-paved  streets  ob 
de  new  Jerusalem  wid  our  muslin  robes  ob  linen, 
white  an'  clean,  which  be  de  righteousness  ob  de 
saints.  Sister,  instead  dere  o*b  leanin'  ober  de 
cotton-hill  in  de  hot  day,  wid  the  great  drops  ob 
sweat  drippin'  down  on  the  hoe-handle,  an'  castin' 
a  wishful  eye  now  an'  den  at  your  shortenin'  shad- 
der,  which  am  your  watch  to  tell  you  when  it  is 
noon,  instead  ob  wishin,  in  your  weariness,  dat  de 
row  was  hoed  out,  de  hoe-cake  dun,  an'  dat  de 
horn  would  blow,  you  shall  bend  wid  an  angel 
form  ober  de  harp  of  Judea,  an'  wake  its  strings  to 
dose  notes — [here  the  old  man's  voice  became  very 
tremulous,  and  a  big  tear  trembled  in  his  eye] — 


THB    ELOQUENT    NEGRO    PREACHER.      Ill 

which  has  sounded  down  de  ages  so  sweet  in  de 
ears  ob  all  de  saints,  an'  which  notes  in  hebben 
are  as  much  sweeter  in  dere  music  den  dey  eber 
can  be  on  earth,  as  de  notes  ob  a  fiddle  ober  yer 
gourd  banjoes.  [Here  a  loud  shout  of  halleluiahs 
was  raised,  and  the  sable  audience  seemed  to 
perfectly  appreciate  the  illustration.] 

But  I'se  speakin'  ob  ribbers.  Dey  are  God's  griat 
turnpike  roads  from  the  Nort  to  de  Sout,  from  de 
East  to  de  "West,  an'  de  big  steamboats  jus  walk 
in  dem,  not  like  de  giants  'fore  de  flood  to  do  no 
good,  but  to  bear  our  cotton,  an'  rice,  an'  sugar  to 
de  market,  an'  make  de  hearts  ob  our  massas  laugh. 
Dey  also  float  de  "broad  horn"  [flat-bottom  boat] 
from  de  upper  country,  bringin'  down  de  pig,  de 
beans,  de  bacon,  an'  de  chick'ns,  widout  which  our 
moufs  at  de  sugar-house,  in  de  cotton  fields,  de  rice 
swamp  an'  tobacca  field,  would  seldom  be  blessed 
with  greasy  victuals,  which  poor  slave  like  as  much 
as  old  Isaac  like  de  savory  meat  ob  de  deceivin' 
Jacob.  When  we  get  to  hebben,  brederen,  we  shall 
hunger  an'  thirst  no  more.  We  shall  lib  just  as 
well  dere,  in  de  quarters,  as  massa  and  missus  in  de 
mansion.  Dere  be  no  quarters  in  hebben ;  all  be 
mansions.  We  read  ob  many  mansions,  but  ob  no, 
quarters;  ob  saints  an'  angels,  so  many  dat  no 'man 
can  number  dein,  an'  yet  ob  no  white  folks  nor  black  - 
folks.  [Here  a  volley  of  "  Amens"  and  "  Glories" 


112  THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

• 

momentarily  drowned  the  voice  of  the  speaker.] 
Bibbers  begin  wid  leetle  creeks,  which  a  leetle 
kitten  might  wade,  an'  swell  to  a  greatness  on 
which  de  commerce  ob  de  nations  may  trabel.  Dey 
come  widenin'  an'  widenin',  an'  growin'  an'  bilin', 
from  old  Chimborazo,  de  Mountains  ob  de  Moon, 
de  Rocky  Mountains,  or  some  oder  region  unknown 
to»yer  speaker's  geography.  Dere  distant  trabel, 
an'  mighty  grof,  takin'  de  leetle  streams  an'  lesser 
libbers  in  dere  bosom  as  dey  flow,  as  a  hen  gadder- 
eth  her  chick'ns  under  her  wings,  am  one  ob  de 
tings  which  I  like  to  tink  about,  as  dey  makes  me 
tink  of  Him  who  makes  all  tings  bery  good,  an'  who 
did  not  consider  de  garden  ob  Eden  as  finished  till 
he  had  made  a  ribber  to  water  it.  De  tree  ob  life, 
in  de.  garden,  no  doubt,  soaked  its  roots  in  de  water 
ob  dis  ribber. 

But  de  tex  speak  ob  de  ribber  ob  life.  Dis,  bred- 
eren,  be  de  ribber  ob  salvation.  De  world  be  bad 
off  widout  de  great  an'  mighty  ribbers  which  encir- 
cle it,  like  girdles  ob  silver  an'  purity,  but  much  wuss 
off  widout  dis  one  great  ribber  ob  life,  proceedin' 
out  of  de  trone  of  God  an'  de  Lamb.  In  dis  tex, 
salvation  be  compared  to  waters,  an'  its  course  in 
de  world  to  a  flowing  ribber.  Let  us  notice  de  last 
fac  fust,  trace  de  fountain  head  ob  dis  ribber,  an' 
take  a  trip  down  it  in  de  old  ship  Zion. 

Dis  ribber  flow  out  ob  de  trone  of  God ;  dat  is.  it 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.  118 

flow  out  ob  God  himself.  God  can  hab  n'o  trone,  an' 
when  de  Bible  speak  ob  him  sitting  on  de  trone  like 
a  king,  it  only  speak  in  de  language  ob  figure  to 
help  our  idees.  God  am  too  great  to  hab  a  trone ; 
he  fill  ebeiywhar  himself.  Larnt  men  tell  us  dat  dis 
earth  be  mighty  big,  eight  thousand  miles  fru  it, 
an'  twenty-four  thousand  miles  around  it ;  an'  'stron- 
omers  tell  us  dat  dere  be  millions  ob  worlds  all  'botit 
us,  dancin'  in  noffin'ness,  many  hundred  times  greater 
•  den  dis,  an'  yet  if  all  dese  worlds  were  put  togedder 
to  make  a  seat  for  God  to  sit  upon,  dey  wouldn't 
answer  de  purpose  any  more  den  a  pin's  head  would 
hab  done  for  Jacob's  piller  at  Bethel,  when  he  seen 
de  angels  comin'  down  an'  goin'  up  agin  to  hebben, 
as  it  were  on  a  ladder.  Sister,  don't  you  nebber 
tink  dat  yer  leetle  child  who  die  in  your  arms,  a 
long  time  ago,  down  in  old  Alabama,  does  not  come 
down  here  in  de  night  seasons,  an',  in  de  form  of  an 
angel,  spread  its  wing  ober  yer  piller,  or  nestle  in 
yer  busum  ?  O  !  when  I  lost  my  sweet,  darlin'  boy, 
dat  belong  to  Judge  Noble,  way  down  in  Georgia, 
de  third  night  after  I  buried  him  under  de  yellow 
clay,  it  seem  as  dough  I  seen  him  in  de  quarters,  a 
lookin*  right  at  me,  an'  pointin'  away  up  in  de  sky, 
eayin',  Daddy,  I  lib  up  yender !  [Here  a  large,  fat 
sister  fetched  a  scream,  and  commenced  jumping 
toward  heaven,  with  streaming  eyes  exclaiming, 
"  Dere's  my  home  an'  portion  fair,"  etc.  But  after 


114  THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

this  temporary  episode  and  agreeable  interruption 
the  speaker  slowly  and  eloquently  proceeded.]  God 
am  great,  too  great  to  sit  down,  too  great  to  stand 
up,  too  great  to  take  form ;  he  be  widout  body  or 
parts.  God  am  a  spirit,  an'  dis  ribber  ob  life  head 
in  dis  infinite  fountain.  It  am  de  Spirit  dat  quicken- 
eth  our  dead  souls ;  it  be  de  Spirit  dat  beget  us  anew 
in  Christ  Jesus ;  it  be  de  Spirit  dat  make  us  happy. 
When  we  be  filled  wid  de  Spirit,  we  be  filled  wid 
de  new  wine  ob  de  kingdom.  De  Holy  Ghost  be  • 
one  ob  de  authors  ob  salvation.  Den  dere  be  de 
Lamb ;  O,  de  precious,  bleedin',  Calvary  Lamb ! 
God,  trone,  Lamb !  Dis,  brederen,  teach  de  doctrine 
ob  de  holy  Trinity.  As  de  ribber  dat  watered  Para- 
dise, so  de  ribber  ob  salvation,  dat  water  de  world, 
rise  in  tree  springs,  an'  yet  are  dese  springs  but  one. 
Dere  be  tree  dat  bear  record  in  hebben,  but  dese 
tree  are  one. 

But  now  ob  de  ribber.  An',  fust,  like  all  de  rib- 
bers,  it  begin  in  a  little  spring  branch.  Dere  be 
what  I  call  de  ribber  ob  promise.  "When  Adam 
fell,  an'  de  debbel  tought  he  had  outdone  God,  an' 
was  about  to  run  away  wid  de  world,  God  appeared 
amid  de  glories  ob  him  shameful  victory,  an'  prom- 
ised to  bruise  him  head  wid  de  seed  ob  de  bery 
woman  he  had  deceived.  Dis,  brederen,  must  hab 
humbled,  'stonished,  an'  alarmed  de  debbel  terribly, 
as  we  do  not  s'pose  he  know  what  war  comin'. 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.  115 

His  hell  was  bery  hot  before,  but  he  had  now 
'creased  it  by  an  attempt  to  'stinguish  de  flames 
dat  tortnred  him.  Adam  an'  Eve,  sorry  for  what 
dey  had  done,  an'  fully  believin'  dis  promise  ob  de 
Lord,  hung  up  dere  blasted  hopes  on  cCs  golden 
chain  let  down  from  hebben,  an'  waterin'  it  wid 
de  tears  ob  dere  penitence,  it  soon  bloomed  agin 
like  de  orange  blossoms  on  de  coast  in  de  spring 
ob  de  year.  Here  war  de  beginnin'  ob  dis  ribber. 
It  flowed  out  ob  Eden,  an'  our  fust  parents  were 
compelled  to  follow  its  course,  an'  to  find  in  drinkin* 
ob  its  waters  dere  only  consolation.  Abel  drinked 
ob  dem  as  he  lifted  up  his  bleedin'  lamb  upon  his 
altar.  Enoch  always  dwelt  near  de  brink  of  its 
waters.  An'  by  invitation  ob  de  angels,  one  day, 
who  were  guidin'  its  infant  channel,  he  went  home 
wid  dem  to  hebben.  He  war  not,  for  God  took 
him;  took  to  show  in  de  'ginnin'  ob  de  world's 
history,  dat  body  as  well  as  soul  war  to  go  up  to 
hebben.  De  tree  ob  life,  which  would  hab  kept 
us  from  bein'  sick  or  dyin',  Adam  war  removed 
from,  so  dat  now  our  souls  an'  bodies  must  be  sep'- 
rated  by  death ;  but  dey  are  to  be  put  togeder  agin 
in  de  resurrection.  Oder  patriarchs,  an'  Noah  an' 
him  sons,  seated  upon  de  bank  ob  dis  ribber,  drank 
ob  its  waters,  an'  lib  foreber.  After  de  flood, 
Abraham  war  called  from  Ur  ob  de  Chaldees  to 

settle  upon  its  widenin'  banks,  an'  teach  his  children 

8 


116  THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHEE. 

after  him  de  efficacy  ob  its  waters.  But  time  would 
fail  us  to  speak  ob  Melchizedek,  ob  Isaac,  ob  Jacob, 
ob  Joseph  an'  Moses,  ob  Aaron  an'  Dabid,  ob  de 
lawgibbers,  priests  an'  kings,  all  who  libbed  along 
on  de  banks  ob  dis  ribber,  like  de  beautiful  houses 
dat  peep  from  orange  groves,  from  behind  de  levee, 
along  de  mighty  Mississippi.  All  dese  libbed  on 
de  ribber  ob  promise.  Den  dere  were  prophets,, 
who  declared  dat  de  ribber  war  flowin'  on,  and  dal 
it  would  break  forth  in  a  mighty  flood,  an'  spread5 
ober  de  whole  earth ;  dat  reeds  an'  rushes  should 
spring  up  'mid  rocks  an'  sands;  an'  dat  harvests 
should  wave,  an'  beauty  should  blush  whar  total 
barrenness  had  reigned  sobereign  for  six  thousand 
years.  Here  old  Isaiah,  who  tuned  his  harp  by 
holdin'  his  ear  up  to  hebben,  an'  catchin'  de  key- 
note ob  dis  new  an'  strange  moosic,  which  de  angels 
invented  'mid  dere  rapturous  'stonishment,  when 
dere  war  silence  up  dere  for  de  space  ob  half  an 
hour :  "  De  wilderness  an'  de  sol'tary  place  shall  be 
glad  for  dem,  an'  de  desert  shall  rejoice  an'  blossom 
as  de  rose.  It  shall  blossom  Abundantly,  an'  de 
glory  ob  Lebanon,  ob  Carmel,  an'  ob  Sharon  shall 
be  gib'n  it.  De  parched  ground  shall  become  & 
pool,  an'  de  tirsty  land  springs  ob  water;  an'  de 
hab'tation  ob  dragons,  whar  each  fay,  shall  become 
green  an'  grassy,  wid  reeds  an'  rushes.  A  'ighway 
shall  be  dere ;"  dat  be  dis  ribber.  [Amen.]  "  It  shall 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.   117 

be  called  de  way  ob  holiness;"  dat  be  dis  ribber, 
[Amen ;]  "  de  unclean  shall  not  pass  ober  it,  [Glory,] 
but  it  shall  be  for  dose" — us  poor,  unlarnt  people 
ob  color — "de  wayfarin'  men,  dough  fools,  shall  not 
err  derein."  [Glory!  Halleluiah!]  O,  brederen, 
how  sweet  to  float  down  dis  ribber !  Of  n,  when  I 
hab  floated  down  de  Mississippi,  on  one  ob  massa's 
boats,  an'  set  down  on  de  deck  in  de  ebenin',  when 
all  be  still,  an'  de  pale  silbery  moon  show  ebery- 
Iting  in  de  hazy,  mellow  light;  an'  I'd  hear  de  boat- 
horn  from  afar,  'bove  us,  fillin'  de  whole  air  wid 
sweet,  sad  music,  seemin'  to  say,  We  are  comin',  wid 
^le  voice  ob  song,  an',  like  you,  hastenin'  down  de 
ribber  to  obtain  de  treasures :  of 'n,  den,  hab  I  tought 
ob  dis  ribber  ob  salvation;  and  I  tink  ob  dis  fact, 
now,  when  I  hear  Isaiah's  windin'  horn  away  up  de 
ribber  ob  life  in  tones  ob  joy  an'  gladness.  But 
de  stream  ob  ages,  floatin'  down  de  waters  ob  dis 
ribber  ob  promise  an'  ob  prophecy,  break  forth  into 
de  ribber  of  redemption  and  falfillment,  when,  in- 
stead ob  prophet's  harps,  or  smokin'  types,  a  light 
is  seen  upon  de  plains  ob  Bethlehem,  which  smote 
pious  shepherds  to  de  ground,  followed  by  a  multi- 
tude ob  de  hebbenly  host,  singin'  togeder  in  de 
midnight  sky,  old  Adam  himself,  p'raps,  pourin'  out 
his  voice  in  bass,  "Glory  to  God  in  de  highest,  on 
earth  peace,  an'  good-will  to  man."  .Ob  de  'istory, 
ob  de  birf  ob  Jesus,  ob  his  life  ob  miracles  an'  mercy, 


118  THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

ob  his  death  on  Calvary,  his  resurrection  de  third 
day,  an'  ob  his  gwine  up  into  hebben,  we  hab  no 
time  now  to  speak.  But,  O !  how  sweet  de  story, 
an'  what  a  mighty  rise  here  in  dis  ribber  ob  salva- 
tion !  It  has  been  risin'  ebber  since ;  ebery  shower 
cause  it  to  oberflow  its  banks,  widin  which,  de  old 
Jews  always  tought  dey  would  keep  it — de  banks 
ob  de  law,  brederen,  dat  is,  de  law  ob  carnal  ordi- 
nances, which  neider  we  nor  our  faders  were  able 
to  bear.  t 

De  fust  great  shower  dat  produced  de  fust  great 
freshet  in  dis  ribber,  came  to  pass  on  de  day 
ob  Pentecost.  Tree  tousand  here  drinked  ob  its* 
waters,  an'  eber  after  took  passage  in  de  old  ship 
Zion.  Dey  be  'rived  safely  on  t'other  shore.  But 
de  shower  dat  turn  away  dis  ancient  ribber  for 
eber  from  its  old  channel,  an'  send  it  forth  to  water 
de  earth  wherebber  it  was  tirsty,  took  place  at  de 
house  ob  Cornelius  de  Gentile.  He  war  dry,  and 
knew  not  what  to  drink.  His  alms  an'  prayers 
went  up  to  God,  but  Christ  come  not  into  his 
heart,  de  hope  ob  glory.  To  be  good,  an'  to  do 
good,  brederen,  is  not  to  hab  religion.  Yet  dem 
dat  hab  religion  will  always  be  good  an'  do  good. 
An  angel  reliebed  Cornelius,  an'  might  hab  pointed 
his  thirsty  soul  to  de  exhaustless  waters  ob  de  rib- 
ber ob  life.  But  angels  may  sing  ebbery  time  far- 
off  Omnipotence  make  a  new  world  to  break  de 


THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER.  119 

Dlank  ob  emptiness;  dey  may  eben  be  jurymen, 
%n'  help  to  judge  de  world  in  de  day  ob  judgment ; 
but  dey  shall  not  fill  de  exalted  office  ob  preachin' 
to  man.  Dis  office  has  been  reserved  alone  for 
frail  flesh,  an'  eben  poor,  despised  "nigger"  am 
permitted  to  fill  dis  princely  station.  Dis  be  to 
show  de  honor  which  God  put  upon  our  flesh 
when  he  came  down  to  dis  earth.  Dis  show,  too, 
dat  dis  frail  body,  which  crawlin'  worms  will 
•^consume,  has  been  tak'n  into  de  keepin'  ob  God, 
an'  dat  he  will  keep  it,  dough  de  lightnins  may 
sport  wid  it,  de  alligators  chaw  it  up,  as  dey  did 
my  broder,  or  de*  plow  turn  up  our  bones  to  bleach 
in  de  cotton-fields,  as  it  has  some  ob  our  people 
'fore  us.  For  I  be  persuaded  dat  He  will  keep 
dat  which  I  hab  committed  unto  Him  against  dat 
day. 

An'  now,  brederen,  a  word  about  de  waters  ob 
salvation.  Dey  be  pure,  clear  as  crystal.  Dis  be 
intended  to  show  de  word  ob  God,  or  de  truth  ob 
God,  in  which  dere  be  no  mixture  ob  error.  Just 
tink  how  clear  an'  nothin'like,  and  yet  it  be 
somefin' !  De  pure  waters  gurgle  up  in  your 
spring- house,  so  dat  you  can  see  de  bottom  ob  de 
spring  just  as  easy  as  if  nothin'  war  dere.  An'  yet, 
when  de  day  am  hot  an'  you  be  dry,  how  you  lub  to 
take  de  gourd  dat  hang  up  dere,  an'  lift  to  yer 
lip  dat  pure  substance,  which,  when  you  hab 


120  THE  ELOQUENT  NEGRO  PREACHER. 

drunk,  you  feel  strong  agin,  an'  good  all  ober. 
Now,  brederen,  it  be  so  wid  de  truth  ob  God  to  . 
dat  weepin',  penitent,  despairin'  sinner.  "When  he 
drink  ob  dese  pure  waters,  clear  as  crystal,  dey 
make  bof  soul  an'  body  happy.  O,  sinner,  come 
to  dis  flowin'  ribber!  its  waters  murmur  at  yer 
feet ;  its  billers  kneel  beseech'n'ly  to  you,  cryin', 
"Ho,  ebbery  one  dat  tirsts,  some  ye  to  de  waters, 
an'  him  dat  hab  no  money ;  come  ye,  buy  wine  an' 
milk,  widout  money  an'  widout  price."  Yes,  tank 
God,  dis  ribber  be  water,  or  milk,  or  wine  to  us, 
'cordin'  to  our  faith ;  a  continual  feast  to  de  poor, 
as  well  as  to  de  rich.  Halleluiah !  bless  God  dat 
he  ebber  let  loose  dis  ribber !  How  rapidly  we 
glide  to-day  upon  its  movin'  waters !  It  will  open 
in  de  ocean  ob  eternity,  right  at  de  entrance  ob 
which  am  an  island,  called  the  land  ob  Beulah, 
whar  dere  am  always  light,  life,  an'  love,  an'  whar 
de  ransomed  ob  de  Lord  shall  be  near  him,  an' 
go  'way  from  him  into  sin  an'  sorrow  no  more, 
foreber  an'  eber.  May  we  land  safely  dere,  is  de 
prayer  ob  yer  unwordy  speaker. 


THE 


NEW    PLEASUKE. 


BY    T.    S.    ARTHUR. 


THE    NEW    PLEASURE. 


THE  whole  pleasure  of  Mr.  Bolton's  life  had  been 
the  accumulation  of  property,  with  an  end  to  his  own 
gratification.  To  part  with  a  dollar  was,  therefore, 
ever  felt  as  the  giving  up  of  a  prospective  good ;  and 
it  acted  as  the  abridgment  of  present  happiness.  Ap- 
peals to  Mr.  Bolton's  benevolence  had  never  been  very 
successful ;  and  in  giving,  he  had  not  experienced  the 
blessing  which  belongs  of  right  to  good  deeds.  The 
absolute  selfishness  of  his  feelings  wronged  him  of 
what  was  justly  his  due. 

Thus  passed  the  life  of  Mr.  Bolton.  Dollar  was 
added  to  dollar,  house  to  house,  and  field  to  field. 
Yet  he  was  never  satisfied  with  gaining ;  for  the  little 
he  had  looked  so  small,  compared  with  the  wealth 
of  the  world,  after  the  whole  of  which  his  heart  really 
panted,  as  to  appear  at  times  actually  insignificant. 
Thus,  as  he  grew  older,  he  set  a  higher  value  upon 
what  he  had,  as  a  means  of  gaining  more ;  and,  in 
parting  with  money,  did  so  at  the  expense  of  a  daily 
increasing  reluctance. 


124  THE    NEW    PLEASUKE. 

In  the  beginning  of  life,  Mr.  Bolton  possessed  a  few 
generous  feelings,  the  remains  of  early  and  innocent 
states  stored  up  in  childhood.  His  mother,  a  true 
woman,  perceiving  the  strong  selfish  and  accumulat- 
ive bent  of  his  character,  had  sought,  in  every  possible 
way,  to  implant  in  his  mind  feelings  of  benevolence 
and  regard  for  others.  One  mode  of  doing  this  had 
been  to  introduce  him  into  scenes  that  appealed  to 
his  sympathies.  She  often  took  him  with  her  to  see 
poor  or  sick  persons  ;  and  so  interested  him  in  them, 
as  to  create  a  desire  in  his  mind  to  afford  relief. 
As  soon  as  she  perceived  this  desire  awakened, 
she  devised  some  -  mode  of  bringing  it  into  activ- 
ity, so  that  he  might  feel  the  delights  which 
spring  from  the  consciousness  of  having  done  good 
to  another. 

But  so  strong  was  the  lad's  hereditary  love  of  self, 
that  she  ever  found  difficulty  in  inducing  him  to  sacri- 
fice what  he  already  considered  his  own,  in  the  effort 
to  procure  blessings  for  others,  no  matter  how  greatly 
they  stood  in  need.  If  urged  to  spend  a  sixpence 
of  his  own  for  such  a  purpose,  he  would  generally 
reply : 

"  But  you've  got  a  great  many  more  sixpences  than 
I  have,  mother :  why  don't  you  spend  them  ?" 

To  this  Mrs.  Bolton  would  answer  as  appropriately 
as  possible ;  but  she  found  but  poor  success  in  her 
efforts,  which  were  never  relaxed. 


THE    NEW    PLEASURE.  125 

In  early  manhood,  as  Mr.  Bolton  began  to  come  in 
actual  contact  with  the  world,  the  remains  of  early 
states  of  innocence  and  sympathy  with  others  came 
back,  as  we  have  intimated,  upon  him ;  and  he  acted, 
in  many  instances,  with  a  generous  disregard  of  self. 
But  as  he  bent  his  mind  more  and  more  earnestly 
to  the  accumulation  of  money,  these  feelings  had  less 
and  less  influence  over  him.  And,  as  dollar  after 
dollar  was  added  to  his  store,  his  interest  in  the  wel- 
fare of  others  grew  less  and  less  active.  Early  friend- 
•ships  were  gradually  forgotten ;  and  the  mutual  desire 
to  see  early  friends  prosperous  like  himself  gradually 
died  out.  "  Every  man  for  himself  "  became  the  lead- 
ing principle  of  his  life,  and  he  acted  upon  it  on  all 
occasions.  In  taking  a  pew  in  church,  and  regularly 
attending  worship  every  Sabbath,  he  was  governed 
by  the  idea  that  it  was  respectable  to  do  so,  and  gave 
a  man  a  standing  in  society,  that  reacted  favorably 
upon  his  worldly  interests.  In  putting  his  name  to  a 
subscription  paper,  (a  thing  not  always  to  be  avoided, 
even  by  him,)  a  business  view  of  the  matter  was  in- 
variably taken  ;  and  the  satisfaction  of  mind  experi- 
enced on  the  occasion,  arose  from  the  reflection  that 
the  act  would  benefit  him  in  the  long  run.  As  to  the 
minor  charities,  in  the  doing  of  which  the  left  hand 
has  no  acquaintance  with  the  deeds  of  the  right  hand, 
Mr.  Bolten  never  indulged  in  them.  If  his  left  hand 
had  known  the  doings  of  his  right  hand,  in  matters 


126  THE    NEW    PLEASURE. 

of  this  kind,  said  hand  would  not  have  been  much 
wiser  for  the  knowledge. 

Thus  life  went  on ;  and  Mr.  Bolton  was  ever  busy 
in  his  golden  harvest ;  so  busy  that  he  had  no 
time  for  anything  else,  not  even  to  enjoy  what  he 
possessed.  At  last  he  was  sixty  years  old,  and  his 
wealth  extended  to  many  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
dollars.  But  he  was  further  from  being  satisfied 
than  ever,  and  less  happy  than  at  any  former  period 
in  his  life. 

One  cause  arose  from  the  fact  that,  as  a  rich  man, 
he  was  constantly  annoyed  with  applications  to  do  a 
rich  man's  part  in  the  charities  of  the  day.  And 
to  these  applications  it  was  impossible  to  turn  a 
deaf  ear.  Give  he  must,  sometimes ;  and  giving  al- 
ways left  a  pain  behind,  because  the  gift  came  not 
from  a  spirit  of  benevolence.  There  were  other  and 
various  causes  of  unhappiness,  all  of  which,  combining, 
made  Mr.  Bolton,  as  old  age  came  stealing  upon  him, 
about  as  miserable  as  a  man  could  well  be.  Money, 
in  his  eyes  the  greatest  good,  had  not  brought  the 
peace  of  mind  to  which  he  had  looked  forward ;  and 
the  days  came  and  went  without  a  smile.  His  chil- 
dren had  grown  up  and  passed  into  the  world ;  and 
were,  as  he  had  been  at  their  ages,  so  all-absorbed  by 
the  love  of  gain  as  to  have  little  love  to  spare  for  any- 
thing else. 

About  this  time,  Mr.  Bolton,  having  made   one 


THE    NEW    PLEASURE.  127 

or  two  losing  operations,  determined  to  retire  from 
business,  invest  all  his  money  in  real  estate  and 
other  securities,  and  let  the  management  of  these 
investments  constitute  his  future  employment.  In 
this  new  occupation  he  found  so  little  to  do,  in  com- 
parison with  his  former  busy  life,  that  the  change 
proved  adverse,  so  far  as  his  repose  of  mind  was 
concerned. 

It  happened,  about  this  time,  that  Mr.  Bolton 
had  occasion  to  go  some  twenty  miles  into  the 
country.  On  returning  home,  and  when  within  a 
few  miles  of  the  city,  his  carriage  was  overset, 
and  he  had  the  misfortune  to  fracture  a  limb. 
This  occurred  near  a  pleasant  little  farm-house, 
that  stood  a  short  distance  from  the  road ;  the 
owner  of  which,  seeing  the  accident,  ran  to  rein- 
state the  carriage,  and  assisted  to-  extricate  the  in- 
jured man.  Seeing  how  badly  he  was  hurt,  he 
had  him  removed  to  his  house,  and  then  taking 
a  horse,  rode  off  two  miles  for  a  physician.  In 
the  meantime,  the  driver  of  Mr.  Bolton's  carriage 
was  dispatched  to  the  city  for  some  of  his  family, 
and  his  own  physician.  The  country  doctor  and 
the  one  from  the  city  arrived  about  the  same 
time.  On  making  a  careful  examination  as  to 
the  nature  of  Mr.  Bolton's  injuries,  it  was  found 
that  his  right  leg,  above  the  knee,  was  broken, 
and  that  one  of  his  ankles  was  dislocated.  He 


128  THE    NEW    PLEASURE. 

was  suffering  great  pain,  and  was  much  exhausted. 
As  quickly  as  it  could  be  done,  the  bone  was  set, 
and  the  dislocation  reduced.  By  this  time  it  was 
nightfall,  and  too  late  to  think  seriously  of  re- 
turning home  before  morning.  The  moment  Mr. 
Gray,  the  farmer,  saw  the  thoughts  of  the  injured 
man  and  his  friends  directed  toward  the  city,  he 
promptly  invited  them  to  remain  all  night,  and 
as  much  longer  as  the  nature  of  Mr.  Bolton's 
injuries  might  require.  This  invitation  was  thank- 
fully accepted. 

During  the  night  Mr.  Bolton  suffered  a  great 
deal  of  pain,  and  in  the  morning,  when  the  phy- 
sician arrived,  it  was  found  that  his  injured  limb 
was  much  inflamed.  Of  course,  a  removal  to  the 
city  was  out  of  the  question.  The  doctors  declared 
that  the  attempt  would  be  made  at  the  risk  of 
his  life.  Farmer  Gray  said  that  such  a  thing  must 
not  be  thought  of  until  the  patient  was  fully  able 
to  perform  the  journey ;  and  the  farmer's  wife  as 
earnestly  remonstrated  against  any  attempt  at  hav- 
ing the  injured  man  disturbed,  until  it  would  be 
perfectly  safe  to  do  so.  Both  tendered  the  hospi- 
tality of  their  humble  home  with  so  much  sincerity, 
that  Mr.  Bolton  felt  that  he  could  accept  it  of 
them  with  perfect  freedom. 

It  was  a  whole  month  ere  the  old  gentleman 
was  in  a  condition  to  bear  the  journey  to  town ; 


THE    NEW    PLEASURE.  129 

and  not  once,  during  the  whole  of  that  time,  had 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gray  seemed  weary  of  his  presence, 
nor  once  relaxed  in  their  efforts  to  make  him 
comfortable.  As  Mr.  Bolton  was  about  leaving, 
he  tendered  ^he  farmer,  with  many  expressions  of 
gratitude  for  the  kindness  he  had  received,  a 
hundred  dollar  bill,  as  some  compensation  for  the 
trouble  and  expense  he  had  occasioned  his  family. 
But  Mr.  Gray  declined  the  offer,  saying,  as  he  did  so : 

"I  have  only  done  what  common  humanity  re- 
quired, Mr.  Bolton ;  and  were  I  to  receive  money, 
all  the  pleasure  I  now  experience  would  be  gone." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mr.  Bolton  urged  the  farmer's 
acceptance  of  some  remuneration.  Mr.  Gray  was 
firm  in  declining  to  the  last.  All  that  could  be 
done  was  to  send  Mrs.  Gray  a  handsome  present 
from  the  city;  but  this  did  not  entirely  relieve 
the  mind  of  Mr.  Bolton  from  the  sense  of  obliga- 
tion under  which  the  disinterested  kindness  of  the 
farmer  had  laid  him ;  and  thoughts  of  this  tended 
to  soften  his  feelings,  and  to  awaken,  in  a  small 
measure,  the  human  sympathies  which  had  so 
long  slumbered  in  his  bosom. 

Several  months  passed  before  Mr.  Bolton  was 
able  to  go  out,  and  then  he  resumed  his  old  employ- 
ment of  looking  after  rents,  and  seeking  for  new 
and  safe  investments  that  promised  some  better 
returns  than  he  was  yet  receiving. 


130  THE    NEW    PLEASURE. 

One  day,  a  broker,  who  was  in  the  habit  of 
doing  business  for  Mr.  Bolton,  said  to  him: 

"If  you  want  to  buy  a  small,  well-cultivated 
farm,  at  about  half  what  it  is  worth,  I  think  I 
know  where  you  can  get  one."  **- 

"Do  you?" 

"Yes.  Three  years  ago  it  was  bought  for  three 
thousand  dollars,  and  seven  hundred  paid  down  in 
cash.  Only  eight  hundred  dollars  have  since  been 
paid  on  it ;  and  as  the  time  for  which  the  mortgage 
was  to  remain  has  expired,  a  foreclosure  is  about  to 
take  place.  By  a  little  management,  I  am  satisfied 
that  I  can  get  you  the  farm  for  the  balance  due  on 
the  mortgage." 

"That  is,  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  the  farm  worth  that?  Will  it  be  a  good  in- 
vestment ?" 

"It  is  in  the  highest  state  of  cultivation.  The 
owner  has  spent  too  much  money  upon  it.  This, 
with  the  loss  of  his  entire  crop  of  wheat,  rye,  oats, 
and  hay,  last  year,  has  crippled  him  and  made  it 
impossible  to  pay  the  mortgage." 

"  How  came  he  to  meet  with  this  loss  ?" 

"  His  barn  was  struck  by  lightning." 

"  That  was  unfortunate." 

"  The  farm  will  command,  at  the  lowest,  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dollars  rent;  and  by  forcing  a  sale 


THE    NEW    PLEASURE.  131 

just  at  this  time,  it  can  be  had  for  fifteen  hundred 
9r  two  thousand  dollars,  half  its  real  value." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  investment  at  that." 

After  making  some  brief  inquiries  as  to  its  loca- 
tion, the  quality  of  the  land,  the  improvements,  etc., 
Mr.  Bolton  told  the  broker,  in  whom  he  had  great 
confidence,  that  he  might  buy  the  property  for  him, 
if  he  could  obtain  it  for  anything  below  two  thou- 
sand dollars.  This  the  broker  said  he  could  easily 
do,  as  the  business  of  foreclosure  was  in  his  own 
hands. 

In  due  time  Mr.  Bolton  was  informed  by  his 
agent  in  the  matter,  that  a  sale  under  the  mortgage 
had  taken  place,  and  that  by  means  of  the  little 
management  proposed,  he  had  succeeded  in  keeping 
away  all  competition  in  bidding.  The  land,  stock, 
farming  implements  and  all,  had  been  knocked  down 
ate  price  that  just  covered  the  incumbrance  on  the 
estate,  and  were  the  property  of  Mr.  Bolton,  at  half 
their  real  value. 

"  That  was  a  good  speculation,"  said  the  grayhead- 
ed  money-lover,  when  his  agent  informed  him  of 
.  what  he  had  been  doing. 

"  First-rate,"  replied  the  broker.  "  The  farm  is 
worth  every  cent  of  three  thousand  dollars.  Poor 
Gray!  I  can't  help  feeling  sorry  for  him.  But  it  is 
his  luck!  He  valued  his  farm  at  three  thousand 
dollars.  A  week  ago  he  counted  himself  worth  two 


* 
182  THE    NEW    PLEASURE. 

thousand  dollars.  Now  he  isn't  worth  a  copper, 
Fifteen  hundred  dollars,  and  three  or  four  years' 
labor  thrown  away  into  the  bargain.  But  it's  his 
luck.  So  the  world  goes.  He  must  try  again.  It 
will  all  go  in  his  lifetime." 

"Gray?  Is  that  the  man's  name?"  inquired  Mr. 
Bolton.  His  voice  was  changed. 

"  Yes.     I  thought  I  had  mentioned  his  name." 

"I  didn't  remark  it,  if  you  did.  It's  the  farm 
adjoining  Harvey's,  on  the  north?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  have  had  it  in  my  mind,  all  along,  that  it  was 
the  one  on  the  south." 

"  No." 

"  When  did  you  see  Mr.  Gray  ?" 

"  He  was  here  about  half  an  hour  ago." 

"How  does  he  feel  about  the  matter?" 

"He  takes  it  hard,  of  course.  Any  man  wouid. 
But  it's  his  luck,  and  he  must  submit.  It's  no  use 
crying  over  disappointments  and  losses  in  this 
world." 

Mr.  Bolton  mused  for  a  long  time. 

"I'll  see  you  again  to-morrow,"  he  said  at 
length.  "Let  everything  remain  as  it  is  until 
morning." 

The  man  who  had  been  for  so  many  years  sold,  as 
it  were,  to  selfishness,  found  himself  checked  at  last 
by  the  thought  of  another.  While  just  in  the  act  of 


THE   NEW    PLEASURE.  138 

grasping  a  money  advantage,  the  interest  of  another 
rose  up,  and  made  him  pause. 

"  If  it  had  been  any  one  else,"  said  he  to  himself, 
as  he  walked  slowly  homeward,  "  all  would  have 
been  plain  sailing.  But — but — " 

The  sentence  was  not  finished. 

"It  won't  do  to  turn  HTM  away,"  was  at  length 
uttered.  "  He  shall  have  the  farm  at  a  very  moder 
ate  rent." 

Still,  these  concessions  of  selfishness  did  not  relieve 
the  mind  of  Mr.  Bolton,  nor  make  him  feel  more 
willing  to  meet  the  man  who  had  done  him  so  great 
a  kindness,  and  in  such  a  disinterested  spirit. 

All  that  day,  and  for  a  portion  of  the  night  that 
followed,  Mr.  Bolton  continued  to  think  over  the 
difficulty  in  which  he  found  himself  placed,  and  the 
more  he  thought,  the  less  willing  did  he  feel  to  take 
the.-  great  advantage  of  the  poor  farmer  at  first  con- 
templated. After  falling  asleep,  his  mind  continued 
occupied  with  the  same  subject,  and  in  the  dreams 
that  came  to  him  he  lived  over  a  portion  of  the  past. 

He  was  again  a  helpless  invalid,  and  the  kind 
farmer  and  his  excellent  wife  were  ministering,  as 
before,  to  his  comfort.  His  heart  was  full  of  grateful 
feelings.  Then  a  change  came  suddenly.  He  stood 
the  spectator  of  a  widely-spread  ruin  that  had  fallen 
upon  the  excellent  Mr.  Gray  and  his  family.  A 
fierce  tempest  was  sweeping  over  the  fields,  and 


184  THE    NEW    PLEASURE. 

bearing  all,  houses,  trees,  and  grain,  in  ruin  to  the 
earth.  A  word  spoken  by  him  would  have  saved 
all;  he  felt  this;  but  he  did  not  speak  the  word. 
The  look  of  reproach  suddenly  cast  on  him  by  the 
farmer,  so  stung  him  that  he  awoke;  and  from  that 
time  until  day  dawned,  he  lay  pondering  on  the 
course  of  conduct  he  had  better  pursue. 

The  advantage  of  the  purchase  he  had  made  was 
so  great,  that  Mr.  Bolton  thought  of  relinquishing 
it  with  great  reluctance.  On  the  other  hand,  his 
obligation  to  the  farmer  was  of  such  a  nature,  that 
he  must,  in  clinging  to  his  bargain,  forfeit  his  self- 
respect,  .  and  must  suffer  a  keen  sense  of  mortifica- 
tion, if  not  dishonor,  at  any  time  that  he  happened 
to  meet  Mr.  Gray  face  to  face.  Finally,  after  a  long 
struggle,  continued  through  several  days,  he  resolved 
to  forego  the  good  he  had  attempted  to  grasp. 

How  many  years  since  this  man  had  done  a  gen- 
erous action !  since  he  had  relinquished  a  selfish  and 
sordid  purpose  out  of  regard  to  another's  well-being  ! 
And  now  it  has  cost  him  a  desperate  struggle ;  but 
after  the  trial  was  past,  his  mind  became  tranquil, 
and  he  could  think  of  what  he  was  about  to  do  with 
an  emotion  of  pleasure  that  was  new  in  his  experi- 
ence. Immediately  on  this  resolution  being  formed, 
Mr.  Bolton  called  upon  his  agent.  His  first  inquiry 
was : 

"  When  did  you  see  Gray  ?" 


THE    NEW    PLEASURE.  185 

"  The  previous  owner  of  your  farm  ?" 
"Yes." 

"Not  since  the  sale.    You  told  me  to  let  every- 
thing remain  as  it  was." 
"Hasn't  he  called?" 


"  The  loss  of  his  farm  must  be  felt  as  a  great  mis- 
fortune." 

"No  doubt  of  that.  Every  man  feels  losses  as 
misfortunes.  But  we  all  have  to  take  the  good  and 
the  bad  in  life  together.  It's  his  luck,  and  he  must 
put  up  with  it." 

"  I  wonder  if  he  hasn't  other  property  ?" 

"No." 

"  Are  you  certain  ?" 

"  O,  yes.  I  know  exactly  what  he  was  worth. 
He  had  been  overseer  for  Elbertson  for  several 
years,  and  while  there,  managed  to  save  seven 
hundred  dollars,  which  he  paid  down,  the  cash 
required  in  purchasing  his  farm.  Since  then,  he 
has  been  paying  off  the  mortgage  that  remained  on 
the  property,  and  but  for  the  burning  of  his  barn, 
might  have  prevented  a  result  that  has  been  so 
disastrous  to  himself.  But  it's  an  ill  wind  that  blows 
nobody  any  good.  In  every  loss  somebody  gains  ; 
and  the  turn  of  the  die  has  been  in  your  favor  this 
time." 

Mr.  Bolton  did  not  appear  to  feel  as  much  satis- 


186  THE    NEW    PLEASURE. 

faction  at  this  view  of  the  case  as  the  broker  antici- 
pated ;  and  seeing  this,  he  changed  the  subject  by 
asking  some  questions  about  the  consummation  of 
the  sale  under  the  mortgage. 

"  I'll  see  about  that  to-morrow,"  said  Mr.  Bolton. 

"  Yery  well,"  was  replied. 

After  some  more  conversation,  Mr.  Bolton  left  the 
office  of  his  agent. 

For  years  Farmer  Gray  had  been  toiling,  late  and 
early,  to  become  the  full  owner  of  his  beautiful  farm. 
Its  value  had  much  increased  since  it  had  come  into 
his  possession,  and  he  looked  forward  with  pleasure  to 
the  time  when  it  would  be  his  own  beyond  all  doubt. 
But  the  loss  of  an  entire  year's  crop,  through  the 
burning  of  his  barn,  deeply  tried  and  dispirited  him. 
From  this  grievous  disappointment  his  spirits  were 
beginning  to  rise,  when  the  sudden  foreclosure  of  the 
mortgage  and  hurried  sale  of  the  farm  dashed  his 
hopes  to  the  earth. 

"Who  the  real  purchaser  of  the  farm  was,  Mr.  Gray 
did  not  know,  for  the  broker  had  bought  in  his  own 
name.  So  bewildered  was  the  farmer  by  the  suddenly- 
occurring  disaster,  that  for  several  days  subsequent  to 
the  sale  he  remained  almost  totally  paralyzed  in  mind. 
No  plans  were  laid  for  the  future,  nor  even  those  or- 
dinary steps  for  the  present  taken  that  common  pru- 
dence would  suggest.  He  wandered  about  the  farm, 
or  sat  at  home,  dreamily  musing  upon  what  seemed 


THE    NEW    PLEASURE.  137 

the  utter  ruin  of  all  his  best  hopes  in  life.  While 
in  this  state,  he  was  surprised  by  a  visit  from  Mr. 
Bolton.  The  old  gentleman,  in  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  said, 

li  What's  the  matter,  my  friend  ?  You  appear  to  be 
in  trouble." 

"And  I  am  in  trouble,"  was  unhesitatingly  an- 
swered. 

"  Not  so  deep  but  that  you  may  get  out  again,  I 
hope?" 

Mr.  Gray  shook  his  head  in  a  desponding  way. 

"  What  is  the  trouble  ?"  Mr.  Bolton  inquired. 

"  I  have  lost  my  farm." 

"O,  no!" 

"  It  is  too  true.  It  has  been  sold  for  a  mortgage 
of  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  Though  I  have  already 
paid  more  than  that  sum  on  account  of  the  purchase, 
it  only  brought  enough  to  pay  the  incumbrance,  and 
I  am  ruined." 

The  farmer  was  deeply  disturbed,  and  Mr.  Bolton's 
feelings  were  much  interested. 

"  Don't  be  so  troubled,  my  good  friend,"  said  the 
old  gentleman.  "  You  rendered  me  service  in  time 
of  need,  and  it  is  now  in  my  power  to  return  it.  The 
farm  is  still  yours.  I  hold  the  mortgage ;  and  you 
need  not  fear  another  foreclosure." 

Some  moments  passed  after  this  announcement  be- 
fore Mr.  Gray's  mind  became  clear,  and  his  entire 


138  THE    NEW    PLEASURE. 

self-possession  returned.  Then,  grasping  the  hand  of 
Mr.  Bolton,  he  thanked  him  with  all  the  eloquence  a 
grateful  heart  inspires.  It  was  the  happiest  moment 
the  old  merchant  had  seen  for  years.  The  mere  pos- 
session of  a  thousand  or  two  of  dollars  seemed  as 
nothing  to  the  pleasure  he  felt  at  having  performed  a 
good  action,  or,  rather,  at  having  refrained  from  doing 
an  evil  one. 

As  he  rode  back  to  the  city,  reflecting  on  what  he 
had  done,  and  recalling  the  delight  shown  by  Mr. 
Gray  and  his  kind  partner,  who  had  attended  him  so 
carefully  while  he  lay  a  sufferer  beneath  their  roof, 
his  heart  swelled  in  his  bosom  with  a  new  and  happy 
emotion. 

Having  once  permitted  himself  to  regard  another 
with  an  unselfish  interest,  that  interest  continued.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  could  not  do  enough  for  the  farmer 
in  the  way  of  aiding  him  to  develop  the  resources  of 
his  little  property.  In  this  he  did  not  merely  stop  at 
suggestions,  but  tendered  something  more  substantial 
and  available.  Nor  did  the  feelings  awakened  in  his 
mind  run  all  in  this  direction.  Occasions  enough 
offered  for  him  to  be  generous -to  others,  and  to  re- 
frain from  oppression  for  the  sake  of  gain.  Many  of 
these  were  embraced;  and  Mr.  Bolton,  in  relating 
the  fact  that  it  is  sometimes  more  blessed  to  give  than 
to  receive,  found  in  the  latter  years  of  his  life  "A 
PLEASURE" — the  pleasure  of  benevolence. 


LOVE-FEAST  AMONG  PEOPLE  OF  COLOR 


A  LOVE-FEAST  AMONG  PEOPLE  OF  COLOR. 


TWENTY-TWO  years  since  it  was  our  privilege  to 
take  a  sanitary  stroll,  South,  through  some  of  the 
Northern  slave  states,  as  we  will  call  them,  and  as  it 
was  always  agreeable  to  us  to  study  the  habits,  sus- 
ceptibilities, and  peculiarities  of  the  negro  in  slav- 
ery, we  found  ourselves  favored  with  an  opportunity 
here,  of  seeing  him,  in  what  might  be  called  the 
mildest  and  blandest  form  of  oppression.  He  was 
privileged,  here,  to  assemble  in  his  own  house  of 
worship,  provided  some  white  persons  were  always 
present.  He  was  privileged  to  conduct  his  own 
worship,  to  preach,  etc.  Learning,  one  pleasant 
Sabbath  morning — it  was  in  autumn-time,  and  the 
forests  were  brown  with  beauty,  squirrels  chirruped 
from  every  tree,  and  the  sun  had  a  mellow  glory, 
especially  for  the  occasion — that  the  brethren  of 
color,  in  a  rude,  but  not  uncommodious  meeting- 
house of  logs,  not  far  distant,  were  going  to  hold 
their  quarterly  love-feast,  we  resolved  immediately 


142  A    LOVE-FEAST    AMONG 

on  attendance.  As  we  were  but  a  looker-on  I'D 
Yenice,  and  had  obstinately  refused  all  work  for  the 
day,  we  sought  the  presence  of  the  white  official  who 
was  to  be  in  attendance,  who  gave  us  a  very  cordial 
welcome  to  accompany  him.  With  him",  the  thing 
was  neither  new  nor  strange,  and  he  seemed  to 
wonder  a  little  at  the  enthusiasm  which  we  mani- 
fested in  the  matter.  But  here,  if  anywhere,  the 
colored  man's  religious  emotions  can  be  studied,  and 
the  few  central  ideas  around  which  his  faith  and 
hope  revolve,  detected.  Our  brother  desired  us  to 
open  the  meeting,  a  point,  again,  in  which  we  were 
triumphant  in  our  resistance.  We  availing  ourself 
the  meantime  of  the  occasion,  to  suggest  that  we 
should  be  most  happy  to  see  this  distinguished  part  of 
the  service  conferred  upon  some  one  of  the  children 
of  Ham.  Our  suggestion  took,  and  as  if  in  gratifi- 
cation of  our  curiosity,  the  preacher  of  ebony  was 
commissioned  to  the  task.  The  house  was  densely 
crowded.  Windows  were  opened  for  ventilation, 
and  those  who  could  not  get  in,  flocked  to  them 
like  doves  to  their  windows.  The  official  was  a  tall, 
athletic  man,  seemingly  with  deep  piety,  and  possess- 
ing, for  his  class,  an  unusual  sense  of  propriety. 
He  arose,  gave  out  from  memory  a  few  verses  of  an 
appropriate  hymn,  which  was  followed  by  a  prayer, 
homogeneous  with  what  followed.  He  then  arose, 
and  observed : 


PEOPLE    OFj£OLOR.  143 

"  Bruddren,  we  hab  come  togedder  for  a  lub-feast. 
"We  ought  to  lub  each  odder  at  all  times,  an'  I  trust 
we  does,  but  den  we  wants  feasts  of  lub  now  an' 
den." 

Up  to  this  point,  things  had  proceeded  very 
gravely,  but  the  quaintness  and  appropriateness  of 
the  old  man's  remark,  was  a  spark  among  tinder. 
He  proceeded : 

"  We  doesn't  want  to  eat  just  alike  ebery  time,  but 
dere  am  times  when  ebery  once  in  a  while  we  wants 
a  feast.  Now,  did  we  feast  all  de  time,  it  would  be 
no  feast,  an'  yet,  as  I  was  savin'  afore,  we  always  lub 
good  eatin'  an'  drinkin'.  Now,  in  de  service  ob  de 
good  Lord,  dere  be  alwaje  good  eatin'  an'  drinkin',  an' 
now  an'  den  a  feast.  Bless  de  Lord!  But  I's  not 
gwine  to  'scuss  de  matter  here  .dis  mornin'.  I  tink 
we  had  better,  commence  feastin',  an'  now,  Brudder 
R.,  an'  Brudder  G.  ober  yonder,  take  dis  bread  an' 
water,  an'  waits  on  de  sisters.  An'  you,  Brudder 
Gumbo,  an'  you  ober  yonder,  Brudder  Sambo,  take 
dis  bread  an'  water,  an'  pass  it  to  de  brudders." 
The  order  was  promptly  obeyed,  and  a  hymn  struck 
up,  sung  by  everybody  with  great  gusto.  0 

"  Lift  your  hearts,  Immanuel's  friends, 
And  taste  the  pleasures  Jesus  sends; 
Let  nothing  cause  you  to  delay, 
But  hasten  on  the  good  old  way." 

We  noticet^that   with   a  delicate  sense   of  pro- 


144  A   LOVE-JTEAST    AMONG 

priety,  the  few  white  persons  in  the  house  received 
the  first  tender  of  the  bread  and  water.  The  spirit 
of  the  meeting  began  to  take  hold  of  us,  and  we 
never  partook  of  the  symbols  of  brotherly,  love  at 
a  love-feast  with  more  pleasure.  This  part  of  the 
service  dispatched,  the  ruling  official  proceeded. 
"  Now,  bruddren,  a  chance  is  given  for  all  ob  us  to 
speak  ob  de  doings  ob  de  Lord  wid  our  poor  souls. 
I  won't  speak  now.  I  may  do  so  arter  a  while.  I 
wants  to  hear  from  all  o'  ye.  I  gives  ye,  den,  de 
chance.  Speak  for  de  Lord,  for  he  'spect  us  to 
'knowledge  him  afore  men."  At  this  point,  he 
resumed  his  seat,  when  a  very  aged  man,  whose 
hair  was  almost  as  white  as  wool,  whom  we  had 
quite  overlooked,  arose  in  the  corner  of  the  building. 
He  arose  slowly,  and  stood  tremulous  with  emotions 
apparently  too  deep  for  words.  Every  eye  was 
upon  him,  for  he  was  the  patriarch  of  the  slave 
population  in  that  neighborhood. 

Silence  relieved  itself  in  these  words:  "Bless  de 
Lord,  O  my  soul.  I's  been  sixty  years  in  dis  good 
old  way.  'Most  home  now."  And  here  the  tears 
started.  "Yes,  Uncle  Jake  'most  home.  I  sees 
little  wid  dese  eyes,"  putting  his  hand  up  to  his 
face,  "but  sees  wid  de  eye  ob  faith  de  odder  shore." 
This  was  followed  with  a  general  response  of  Glory. 
"  Yes,  Uncle  Jake  'most  home,"  (for  so  he  was  call- 
ed.) And  here,  his  worn  and  venerable  counte- 


PEOPLE    OF    COLOK.  145 

* 

nance  brightening  in  the  gleams  of  heaven  and 
immortality,  he  resumed  his  seat.  The  spectacle 
was  so  saintly  and  imposing,  that  we  have  not  for- 
gotten till  this  day  the  thrill  it  gave  us.  The  verse 
was  struck  up : 

"  O,  tell  me  no  more 

Of  this  world's  vain  store*, 
The  time  for  such  trifles  with  me  now  is  o'er. 

A. country  I've  found, 

"Where  true  joys  abound ; 
To  dwell  I'm  determined  on  that  happy  ground." 

Next,  a  sister  arose,  large  and  burly,  but  had,  evi- 
dently, from  the  tone  of  her  conversation,  seen 
many  years,  and  endured^  many  hardships.  "  Brud- 
dren,  I  feels  dis  mornin'  like  Uncle  Jake  yonder, 
who  I's  known  dis  forty  year,  dat  I  'most  home.  I 
lubs  my  Jesus.  I  feel  he  lubs  me  too.  I  always 
'spects  to  lub  him.  I  shall  see  him  soon.  Yes,  see 
him  soon,  Halleluiah !"  "  Glory"  arose  from  all 
parts  of  the  house.  "As  I  was  comin'  in  to  dis 
lub -feast  dis  mornin',  arter  gettin'  up  mighty  early 
to  get  ready  to  come,  to  get  de  work  of  massa  an' 
missus  all  did  up,  I  axed  myself  dis  question,  '  What 
good  it  do  Aunt  Lizza?'  Now,  I  verily  believe  dat 
Satan  put  dat  ar  bery  Question  in  my  mind.  Who 
eber  went  to  lub-feast,  and  it  did^  'em  no  good? 
Why,  as  Uncle  Frank,  yonder,  tell  us  in  de  begin- 
nin',  dis  be  a  feast.  For  many  long  years  I's  feasted 


146  A    LOVE-FEAST    AMONG 

here.  Glory  to  God,  I  'spect  soon  to  feast  up  yon- 
der I  Glory  to  God,  I  'most  home !"  She  resumed 
her  seat,  and  the  verse  struck  up, 

"  'Mid  scenes  of  confusion  and  creature  complaints, 
How  sweet  to  my  soul  is  communion  with  saints ; 
To  find  at  the  banquet  of  mercy  there's  room, 
And  feel  in  the  presence  of  Jesus  at  home. 

Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home! 
Prepare  me,  dear  Saviour,  for  glory,  my  home." 

Up  to  this  point,  it  was  evident  that  Uncle  Jake 
had  given  the  key-note  to  the  style  of  speaking. 
N"ext,  a  young  sister  arose.  "I  come  to  dis  lub- 
feast  wid  a  bery  heavy  heart.  I  didn't  mean  to 
speak,  but  I  can't  set  still  any  longer.  I's  afraid 
dat  I's  mightily  backslid.  I's  had  such  a  heap  to 
do,  dat  I  keep  puttin'  off  prayer,  an'  night  would 
come,  an'  I  so  tired,  dat  I  thought  no  harm  not  to 
pray.  I's  afraid  I's  backsliden.  I  does  wish  I  had 
more  time  to  prwy,  an'  get  to  meetin's.  O,  bruddren, 
pray  for  me.  I  tink  I  feels  a  little  better."  Here 
the  sympathies  of  the  whole  audience  seemed  to 
embrace  at  onSe  the  penitent  victim,  and  her  soul 
was  manifestly  struggling  into  liberty.  Shouts  and 
words  of  encouragement  reached  her  from  all  parts 
of  the  house,  when  the  big  tear  began  to  roll  out  of 
enormous  eyes, "and  the  speaker  proceeded.  "Yes, 
I's  feeling  better.  Glory  to  Jesus !  Glory  to  Jesus  ; 
He  forgives.  I's  feelin'  better !"  and  at  this  point 


PEOPLE    OF    COLOR.  147 

she  commenced  jumping,  and  in  the  glorious  confu- 
sion that  followed,  we  could  make  out  nothing,  but 
now  and  then  the  shout,  "  Fs  feelin'  better !  G-lory 
to  Jesus,  he  forgives !" 

"Awake,  my  soul,  in  joyful  lays, 
And  sing  the  great  Redeemer's  praise ; 
He  justly  claims  a  song  from  me — 
His  loving-kindness,  0,  how  free ! 

"He  saw  me  ruin'd  by  the  fall, 
Yet  loved  me,  notwithstanding  all ; 
He  saved  me  from  my  lost  estate — 
His  loving-kindness,  O,  how  great!" 

The  shouting  and  the  jumping  still  continued  in 
the  direction  where  the  last  sister  had  spoken,  and  the 
singing  prolonged,  the  most  of  this  hymn  being  sung 
at  the  top  of  a  hundred  voices : 

"  Our  bondage  here  shall  end 
By  and  by — by  and  by ; 
Our  griefs  shall  vanish  then, 
With  our  three-score  years  and  ten, 
And  bright  glory  crown  the  day, 
By  and  by — by  and  by." 

After  a  little  lull,  and  an  attempt  by  Uncle  Frank 
to  divert  the  speaking  to  that  end  of  the  room,  a  white 
brother  arose.  After  stating  in  substance  that  he  was 
always  happy  to  meet  with  his  colored  friends,  and 
that  he  hoped  to  meet  them  all  in  heaven,  where  the 

distinction  of  color  would  cease,  he  resumed  his  seat 

10 


148  A    LOVE-FEAST    AMONG 

A  faint  response  of  "God  bless  you,  Massa  Jones," 
was  all  we  heard  in  reply.  "Massa  Jones"  was  a 
small,  sallow  man,  eyebrows  very  low,  and  "eyes  gray 
and  small ;  between  them  there  seemed  to  be  a  kind 
of  a  gnarl  or  a  knot;  his  mouth  was  round  and 
puckering. 

Order  was  now  nearly  restored,  when  another 
person  rose,  who  will  be  readily  recognized  by  all 
observers  of  the  negro  character.  She  was  a  large 
woman,  features  not  very  irregular  nor  black,  but 
looking  sleek  and  shining  brown,  well  formed,  tem- 
perament of  the  highest  class  for  the  colored,  full  of 
spunk,  and  possessing  a  very  fluent  use  of  the  tongue. 
She  was  evidently  a  little  vain  of  her  qualifications  ; 
and  others  of  her  class  about  the  neighborhood  might 
have  reason  to  be  proud  of  her,  if  it  were  not  that  her 
love  of  talk  perpetually  impelled  her  to  look  up  some- 
thing to  talk  about.  It  became  very  convenient  for 
her  to  deal  in  inventions.  Among  white  people,  it 
would  have  been  said  of  her,  Somewhat  given  to 
tattling.  She  also  was  a  specimen  of  one  of  those 
moralists  among  our  people  of  color  who  bring  them- 
selves to  believe  that  there  can  be  no  crime  in  their 
petty  thefts  ;  that  what  their  master  has  they  earned, 
and  if  he  does  not  supply  them  they  have  a  right  to 
supply  themselves.  She  would  go  to  meeting  and 
shout,  and  if  in  the  evening,  take  a  poultry-yard  into 
her  way  home.  In  the  place  of  that  moonlight  dull- 


PEOPLE    OF    COLOR.  149 

ness  in  her  eye,  there  was  the  glassy  brightness  of 
cunning.  The  chains  of  slavery  lay  hard  on  such 
limbs.  Our  heroine,  whom  we  have  described,  and 
whom  we  hope  does  not  practice  upon  the  principles 
of  ethics  which  we  have  introduced,  now  arose,  with 
a  nondescript  bonnet  full  of  yellow  ribbons  and  flow- 
ers. She  was  a  captain  among  them,  and  every  eye 
and  ear  seemed  intent  on  listening. 

"  Brudders,  Fs  here  dis  mornin'  case  I  likes  to  be 
in  jist  such  places.  I's  not  one  ob  dem  dat  would 
neglect  a  feast.  Many  years  ago  God  convart  my 
poor,  blind  soul.  It  war  way  down  in  ole  Yirginny. 
I  neber  forgets  de  time  nor  de  place.  I  finds  out  I's 
a  miserable  sinner,  an'  dat  Jesus  save  by  him  grace 
all  dat  come  unto  him,  wheder  brack  or  "white.  I 
links  to  myself,  if  dere  be  any  chance  for  ine,  now 
am  de  time.  I  prayed  mightily.  I  thought  once  I 
should  go  down  to  hell,  I  felt  I  war  so  bery  bad ;  an' 
one  night,  when  comin'  in  from  the  milkin',  I  feel  so 
bad  dat  I  spill  'bout  half  de  milk.  I  gets  down  be- 
hind a  big  tree,  an'  dere  I  ask  my  Jesus  if  he  meant 
to  save  me  if  I  would  be  saved.  I  axed  him,  cryin' 
as  if  dis  heart  would  bust.  I  kept  a  axin'  him,  when 
all  at  once  a  voice  say  to  me,  '  Yes !'  A  voice  came 
right  down  dat  tree,  an'  say  to  me,  'All  my  promises 
are  Yea  an'  Amen,  to  ebery  one  dat  believe.'  O  dat 
lubly  voice !  Brudders,  I  hears  dat  voice  dis  mornin'. 
It  war  de  voice  ob  deliberance ;  it  war  sweet  to  me 


150  A   LOVE-FEAST    AMONG 

as  de  honey.    I  still  hears  dat  voice  ebery  night.    I 
knows  my  Redeemer  lives !    Halleluiah !" 

Here  the  audience  had  been  wrought  up  again  to 
an  intense  point  of  feeling,  and  "  Glory !"  "  Glory !" 
spread  electrically  all  over  the  house.  After  jumping 
three  or  four  times  about  a  foot  and  a  half  from  the 
floor,  our  speaker  relapsed  into  a  somewhat  graver 
tone,  and  resumed : 

"  I  knows  I  ain't  as  good  as  I  ort  to  be,  and  some 
ob  you  knows  it  too.  I  intends  to  be  better.  By  de 
glory  ob  God  an'  de  grace  ob  God,  I  intends  to  be 
better.  I  feel  like  'ginning  anew,  Uncle  Jake ;"  and 
here  the  old  man  of  the  corner  threw  up  his  face  with 
a  saintly  .smile.  "  I  intends  to  meet  you  all  in  heb 
ben.  Fs  got  a  little  gal  baby  dere,  and  a  little  boy 
baby.  O,  I  sees  'em !  Why,  look,  dey  walk  away 
up  yonder  dere  among  de  stars !  Let  us  go  up  an' 
see  dem !" 

Here  she  resumed  her  seat,  and  the  hymn  was 
struck  up : 

"  O,  take  me  from  this  world  of  woe, 

To  my  sweet  home  above, 
Where  teara  of  sorrow  never  flow, 

And  all  the  air  is  love. 
My  sister  spirits  wait  for  me, 

And  Jesus  bids  me  come : 
O,  steer  my  bark  to  that  bright  land, 

For  Eden  is  my  home." 


PEOPLE    OF^COLOR.  151 

After  some  more  speaking,  of  which  we  shall  give 
no  more  details,  the  love-feast  was  brought  orderly  to 
a  close.  Two  impressions  rested  vividly  upon  our 
mind :  "that  among  a  people  unlettered  and  ignorant, 
the  highly  emotional  in  religion  is  just  as  indispens- 
able for  the  purposes  of  their  conversion  as  is  the 
more  intellectual  among  the  educated  and  refined; 
and  that  any  extravagances  which  we  might  see  in 
such  meetings  as  these,  no  matter  of  what  color,  such 
extravagances  are  order.  Our  second  conclusion  is : 
the  creed  by  which  the  sinner  may  get  to  heaven  is  a 
very  brief  one.  It  is  simply  for  him  to  feel  the  need 
of  salvation;  to  be. told  that  the  whole  of  salvation  is 
implied  in  JESUS,  and  that  if  this  be  believed,  the 
penitent  is  saved.  We  will  name  another  impression 
made  upon  our  mind  by  witnessing  this  primitive 
love-feast  among  people  of  color.  The  colored  man 
perpetually  feasts  himself  on  visions  of  heaven.  He 
is  always  speaking  of  getting  home  by  and  by.  He 
is  always  singing, 

"  I  have  a  home  in  glory." 

These  things  flow  in  his  prayers,  form  the  climax  of 
his  speeches,  the  theme  of  his  poetry,  and  flow  forth, 
in  mellifluous  beauty,  in  that  rich  form  of  song,  those 
individualisms  of  music,  which  so  strongly  mark  the 
negro  character. 


THE 


BY    SYLVANUS    COBB. 


THE  UNMEANT  REBUKE. 


CHABLES  NELSON  had  reached  his  thirty-fifth  year, 
and  at  that  age  he  found  himself  going  down  hill. 
He  had  once  been  one  of  the  happiest  of  mortals,  and 
no  blessing  was  wanting  to  complete  the  sum  of  his 
happiness.  He  had  one  of  the  best  of  wives,  and  his 
children  were  intelligent  and  comely.  He  was  a 
carpenter  by  trade,  and  no  man  conld  command 
better  wages,  or  be  more  sure  of  work.  If  any  man 
attempted  to  build  a  house,  Charles  Nelson  must  boss 
the  job,  and  for  miles  around,  people  sought  him  to 
work  for  them.  But  a  change  had  come  over  his  life. 
A  demon  had  met  him  on  his  way,  and  he  turned  back 
with  the  evil  spirit.  A  new,  experienced  cdrpenter 
had  been  sent  for  by  those  who  could  no  longer 
depend  upon  Nelson,  and  he  had  settled  in  the 
village,  and  now  took  Nelson's  place. 

On  a  back  street,  where  the  great  trees  threw 
their  green  branches  over  the  way,  stood  a  small 
cottage,  which  had  once  been  the  pride  of  its 


156       THE  UNMEANT  REBUKE. 

inmates.  Before  it  stretched  a  wide  garden,  but  tall, 
rank  grass  grew  up  among  the  choking  flowers, 
and  the  paling  of  the  fence  was  broken  in  many 
places.  The  house  itself  had  once  been  -white,  but 
it  was  how  dingy  and  dark.  Bright  green  blinds 
had  once  adorned  the  windows,  but  now  they  had 
been  taken  off  and  sold.  And  the  windows 
themselves  bespoke  poverty  and  neglect,  for  in 
many  places  the  glass  was  gone,  and  shingles,  rags, 
and  old  hats  had  taken  its  place.  A  single  look 
at  the  house,  and  its  accompaniments,  told  the  story. 
It  was  the  drunkard's  home. 

Within  sat  a  woman  yet  in  the  early  years  of 
life;  though  she  was  still  handsome  to  look  upon, 
the  bloom  was  gone  from  her  cheek,  and  the  bright- 
ness had  faded  from  her  eyes.  Poor  Mary  Nelson ! 
Once  she  had  been  the  happiest  among  the  happy, 
but  now  none  could  be  more  miserable.  Near 
her  sat  two  children,  both  girls,  and  both  beautiful 
in  form  and  feature ;  but  their  garbs  were  all  patched 
and  worn,  and  their  feet  were  shoeless-.  The  eldest 

11 

was  thirteen  years  of  age,  and  the  other  two  years 
younger.  The  mother  was  teaching  them  to  recite  a 
grammar  lesson,  for  she  had  resolved  that  her 
children  should  not  grow  up  in  ignorance.  They 
could  not  attend  the  common  schools,  for  thoughtless 
children  sneered  at  them,  and  made  them  the  subject 
of  sport  and  ridicule ;  but  in  this  respect  they  did  not 


THE    UNMEANT    REBUKE.  157 

suffer,  for  their  mother  was  well  educated,  and  she 
devoted  such  time  as  she  could  spare  to  their  in- 
struction. 

For  more  than  two  years  Mary  Nelson  had  earned 
all  the  money  that  had  been  earned  in  the  house. 
People  had  hired  her  to  wash,  iron,  and  sew  for 
them,  and  besides  the  money  paid,  they  gave  her 
many  articles  of  food  and  clothing.  So  she  lived 
on,  and  the  only  joys  that  dwelt  with  her  now,  were 
teaching  her  children,  and  praying  to  God. 

Supper-time  came,  and  Charles  Nelson  came 
reeling  home.  He  had  worked  the  day  before  at 
helping  to  move  a  building,  and  thus  had  earned 
money  enough  to  find  himself  in  rum  for  several 
days.  As  he  stumbled  into  the  house,  the  children 
crouched  close  to  the  mother,  and  even  she  shrank 
away,  for  sometimes  her  husband  was  dangerous 
when  thus  intoxicated. 

O,  how  that  man  had  changed  within  two  years ! 
Once  there  was  not  a  finer  looking  man  in  town.  In 
frame  he  had  been  tall,  stout,  compact,  and  perfectly 

formed,  while  his  face  bore  the  very  beau-ideal  of 

i 

manly  beauty.  But  all  was  changed  now.  His 
noble  form  was  bent,  his  limbs  shrunken  and  tremu- 
lous, his  face  all  bloated  and  disfigured.  He  was 
not  the  man  he  had  once  been,  the  fond  husband 
and  doting  father.  The  loving  wife  had  prayed,  and 
wept,  and  implored,  but  all  to  no  purpose ;  the  hus- 


158  THE    UNMEANT   REBUKE. 

band  was  bound  to  the  drinking  companions  of  the 
bar-room,  and  he  would  not  break  the  bonds. 

That  evening  Mary  Nelson  ate  no  supper,  for  all 
the  food  she  had  in  the  house,  there  was  not  more 
than  enough  for  her  husband  and  children ;  but 
when  her  husband  had  gone  she  went  and  'picked  a 
few  berries,  and  thus  kept  her  vital  energy  alive. 
That  night  the  poor  woman  prayed  long  and  earn- 
estly, and  her  little  ones  prayed  with  her. 

On  the  following  morning  Charles  Nelson  sought 
the  bar-room  as  soon  as  he  rose,  but  he  was  sick  and 
faint,  and  liquor  would  not  revive  him,  for  it  would 
not  remain  in  his  stomach.  He  had  drunk  very 
deeply  the  night  before,  and  he  felt  miserable.  A1 
length,  however,  he  managed  to  keep  down  a  few 
glasses  of  hot-sling,  but  the  close  atmosphere  of  the 
bar-room  seemed  to  stifle  him,  and  he  went  out. 

The  poor  man  had  sense  enough  to  know  that  if 
he  could  sleep  he  would  feel  better,  and  he  had  just 
feeling  enough  to  wish  to  keep  away  from  home ;  so 
he  wandered  off  toward  a  wood  not  far  from  the 
village,  and  was  soon  buried  in  a  profound  slumber. 
When  he  awoke,  the  sun  was  shining  down  hot  upon 
him,  and  raising  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  he 
gazed  about  him.  He  knew  that  it  was  afternoon, 
for  the  sun  was  turning  toward  the  west.  He  was 
just  upon  the  point  of  rising,  when  his  motion  was 
arrested  by  the  sound  of  voices  near  at  hand.  He 


THE  UNMEANT  BEBUKE.        159 

looked  through  a  clink  in  the  wall,  and  just  upon  the 
side  he  saw  his  two  children  picking  berries,  while 
further  off  were  two  more  girls,  the  children  of  the 
carpenter  who  had  lately  moved  to  the  village. 

"  Come,  Katy,"  said  one  of  these  latter  girls  to 
her  companion,  "  let's  go  away  from  here,  because 
if  anybody  should  see  us  with  those  girls  they'd 
think  we  played  with  'em ;  come." 

"  But  the  berries  are  thick  here,"  remonstrated  the 
other. 

"  Never  mind ;  we'll  come  some  time  when  those 
little  ragged  drunkard's  girls  aren't  here." 

So  the  two  favored  ones  went  away  hand  in  hand, 
and  Kelly  and  Nancy  sat  down  upon  the  grass  and 
cried. 

"  Don't  cry,  Nancy,"  said  the  eldest,  throwing  her 
arms  around  her  sister's  neck. 

"  But  you  are  crying,  Nelly." 

"  O,  I  can't  help  it,"  sobbed  the  stricken  one. 

"  Why  do  they  blame  us  ?"  murmured  Nancy, 
gazing  up  to  her  sister's  face.  "  O,  we  are  not  to 
blame.  We  are  good,  and  kind,  and  loving,  and 
we  never  hurt  anybody.  O,  I  wish  somebody  would 
lore  us ;  I  should  be  so  happy." 

"  But  we  are  loved,  Nancy.  Only  think  of  our 
mother.  Who  could  love  us  as  she  does  ?" 

"I  know,  I  know,  Nelly  ;  but  that  isn't  all.  Why 
don't  papa  love  us  as  he  used  to  do?  Don't  you 


160        THE  UNMEANT  REBUKE. 

remember  when  he  used  to  kiss  us  and  make  us 
happy?  O,  how  I  wish  he  could  be  so  good  for  us 
once  more.  He  is  not — " 

"  Hush,  sissy !  don't  say  anything  more.  He  may 
be  good  to  us  again ;  if  he  knew  how  we  loved  him, 
I  know  he  would.  And  then  I  believe  God  is  good, 
and  surely  he  will  help  us  some  time." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Nancy,  "  I  know  he  does ;  and 
God  must  be  our  father  s5me  time." 

"  He  is  our  father  now,  sissy." 

"  I  know  it ;  but  he  must  tie  all  we  shall  nave 
by  and  by,  for  don't  you  remember  that  mother  told 
us  that  she  must  leave  us  one  of  these  days  ?  Sh« 
said  a  cold  finger  was  upon  her  heart,  and,  and — " 

"  Hush,  sissy !    Don't,  don't,  Nancy  ;  you'll — " 

The  words  were  choked  up  with  sobs  and  tears 
and  the  sisters  wept  long  together.  At  length  they 
arose  and  went  away,  for  they  saw  more  children 
coming. 

As  soon  as  the  little  ones  were  out  of  sight,  Charles 
Nelson  started  to  his  feet.  His  hands  were  clinched, 
and  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  a  vacant  point  with  an 
eager  gaze. 

"  My  God !"  he  gasped,  "  what  a  villain  I  am ! 
Look  at  me  now !  What  a  state  I  am  in,  and  what 
I  have  sacrificed  to  bring  myself  to  it  I  •  And  they 
love  me  yet,  and  pray  for  me  ?" 

He  said  no  more,  but  for  some  moments  he  stood 


THE  UNMEANT  REBUKE.        161 

with  his  hands  still  clinched  -and  eyes  fixed.  At 
length  his  gaze  was  turned,  and  his  clasped  hands 
were  raised  above  his  head.  A  moment  he  remain- 
ed so,  and  then  his  hands  dropped  by  his  side  and 
he  started  homeward. 

When  he  reached  his  home  he  found  his  wife  and 
children  in  tears,  but  he  affected  not  to  notice  it. 
He  drew  a  shilling  from  his  pocket — it  was  his  last — * 
and  handing  it  to  his  wife,  he  asked  her  if  she  would 
send  and  get  some  milk  and  flour,  and  make  him 
some  porridge.  The  wife  was  startled  by  the 
strange  tone  in  which  this  was  spoken,  for  it  sound 
ed  just  as  that  voice  had  sounded  in  days  gone  by. 

The  porridge  was  made  nice  and  nourishing,  and 
Charles  ate  it  all.  He  went  to  bed  early,  and  early 
on  the  following  morning  he  was  up.  He  asked  his 
wife  if  she  had  milk  and  flour  enough  to  make  him 
another  bowl  of  porridge. 

"  Yes,  Charles,"  she  said.     "  We  have  not  touched 

it." 

"Then,  if  you  are  willing,  I  should  like  some 
more." 

The  wife  moved  quickly  about  the  work,  and 
ere  long  the  food  was  prepared.  The  husband  ate 
it,  and  he  felt  better.  He  washed  and  dressed, 
and  would -have  shaved  had  his  hand  been  steady 
enough.  He  left  his  home,  and  went  at  once  to 
a  man  who  had  just  commenced  to  frame  a  house. 


162        THE  UNMEANT  REBUKE. 

"  Mr,  Manley,"  he'  said,  addressing  the  gentle- 
man alluded  to,  "  I  have  drank  the  last  glass  of 
alcoholic  beverage  that  ever  passes  my  lips.  Ask 
me  no  more  questions,  but  believe  me  now  while 
you  see  me  true.  Will  you  give  me  work  ?" 

"  Charles  Nelson,  are  you  in  earnest  ?"  asked 
Manley,  in  surprise. 

"  So  much  so,  sir,  that  were  death  to  stand  upon 
my  right  hand,  and  yonder  bar-room  upon  my  left, 
I  would  go  with  the  grim  -messenger  first." 

"Then  here  is  my  house  lying  about  us  in 
rough  timber  and  boards.  I  place  it  all  in  your 
hands,  and  shall  look  to  you  to  finish  it.  While 
I  can  trust  you,  you  may  trust  me.  Come  into 
my  office,  and  you  shall  have  the  plan  I  have 
drawn." 

We  will  not  tell  you  how  that  stout  man  wept, 
and  how  his  noble  friend  shed  tears  to  see  him 
thus;  but  Charles  Nelson  took  the  plan,  and  hav 
ing  studied  it  for  a  while,  he  went  out  where  the 
men  were  at  work  getting  the  timber  together, 
and  Mr.  Manley  introduced  him  as  their  master. 
That  day  he  worked  but  little,  for  he  was  not 
strong  yet,  but  he  arranged  the  timber,  and  gave 
directions  for  framing.  At  night  he  asked  his 
employer  if  he  dared  to  trust  him  with*  a  dollar- 

"  Why,  you  have  earned  three,"  returned  Manley* 

"And  will  you  pay  me  three  dollars  a  day?" 


THE    UNMEANT    REBUKE. 


163 


"  If  you  are  as  faithful  as  you  have  been  to-day, 
for  you  will  save  me  money  at  that." 

The  poor  man  could  not  speak  his  thanks  in 
words,  but  looks  spoke  for  him,  and  Manley  un- 
derstood them.  He  received  his  three  dollars, 
and  on  his  way  home  he  stopped  and  bought,  first, 
a  basket,  then  three  loaves  of  bread,  a  pound  of 
butter,  some  tea,  sugar,  and  a  piece  of  beefsteak. 
He  had  just  one  dollar  and  seventy-five  cents  left. 
With  this  load  he  went  'home.  It  was  some  time 
before  he  could*  compose  himself  to  enter  the  house, 
but  at  length  he  went  in  and  set  the  basket  on  the 
table. 

"Come,  Mary,"  he  said,  "I  have  brought  some- 
thing home  for  supper.  Here,  Nelly,  you  take  the 
pail,  and  run  over  to  Mr.  Brown's  and  get  a  couple 
of  quarts  of  milk."  • 

He  handed  her  a  shilling  as  he  spoke,  and  in 
a  half-bewildered  state  she  took  the  money  and 
hurried  away. 

The  wife  started  when  she  raised  the  cover  of 
the  basket,  but  she  dared  not  speak.  She  moved 
about  like  one  in  a  dream,  and  ever  and  anon 
she  would  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  her  husband 
He  had  not  been  drinking  —  she  knew  it  —  and  yet 
he  had  money  to  buy  rum  with  if  he  wanted  it. 
What  could  it  mean  ?  O,  how  fervently  she  prayed 
then. 


164  THE    UNMEANT    REBUKE. 

Soon  Nelly  returned  with  the  milk,  and  Mrs. 
Nelson  set  the  table  out.  After  supper  Charles 
arose,  and  said  to  his  wife: 

"I  must  go  up  to  Mr.  Manley's  office  to  help 
him  to  arrange  some  plans  for  his  new  house,  but 
I  will  be  home  early." 

A  pang  shot  through  the  wife's  heart,  as  she 
saw  her  husband  turn  away,  but  still  she  was  far 
happier  than  she  had  been  before  for  a  long  while. 
There  was  something  in  his  manner  that  assured 
her  and  gave  her  hope. 

Just  as  the  clock  struck  nine,  the  well-known 
footfall  was  heard,  strong  and  steady.  The  door 
opened,  and  Charles  entered.  His  wife  cast  a  quick, 
keen  glance  into  his  face,  and  she  almost  uttered 

'    • 

a  cry  of  joy  when  she  saw  he  was  changed  for  the 
better.  He  had  been  to  the  barber's  and  the 
hatter's.  Yet  nothing  was  said  on  the  all-import- 
ant subject.  Charles  wished  to  retire  early,  and 
his  wife  went  with  him.  In  the  morning  the  hus- 
band arose  first  and  built  a  fire.  Mary  had  not 
slept  till  long  after  midnight,  having  been  kept 
awake  by  tumultuous  emotions,  that  had  started 
up  in  her  bosom,  and  hence  she  awoke  not  so 
early  as  usual.  But  she  came  out  just  as  the  tea- 
kettle and  potatoes  began  to  boil,  and  breakfast  was* 
eoon  ready. 

After    the   meal    was   eaten,   Charles    arose   and 


THE  UNMEANT  REBUKE.        165 

put  on  his  hat,  and  then  turning  to  his  wife,  he 
asked: 

"What  do  you  do  to-day?" 

"I  must  wash  for  Mrs.  Bixby." 

"  Are  you  willing  to  obey  me  once  more  f" 

«  O,  yes." 

"  Then  work  for  me  to-day.  Send  Nelly  over  to 
tell  Mrs.  Bixby  that  you  are  not  well  enough  to 
wash,  for  you  are  not.  Here  is  a  dollar,  and  you 
must  do  with  it  as  you  please.  Buy  something 
that  will  keep  you  busy  for  yourself  and  children." 

Mr.  Nelson  turned  toward  the  door,  and  his 
hand  was  upon  the  latch.  He  did  not  speak,  but 
opened  his  arms,  and  his  wife  sank  upon  his  bosom. 
He  kissed  her,  and  then  having  gently  placed  her 
in  a  seat,  he  left  the  house.  "When  he  went  to  his 
work  that  morning  he  felt  well,  and  very  happy. 

Mr.  Manley  was  by  to  cheer  him,  and  this  he  did 
by  talking  and  acting  as  though  Charles  had  never 
been  unfortunate  at  all. 

It  was  Saturday  evening,  and  Nelson  had  been 
a  week  without  rum.  He  had  earned  fifteen  dollars, 
ten  of  which  he  had  now  in  his  pocket. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  after  the  supper  table  had  been 
cleared  away,  "  here  are  ten  dollars  for  you,  and  I 
want  you  to  expend  them  in  clothing  for  yourself 
and  children.  I  have  earned  fifteen  dollars  during  the 
last  five  days.  I  am  to  build  Squire  Manley's  great 


166  THE    UNMEANT    REBUKE. 

house,  and  lie  pays  me*  three  dollars  a  day.  A  good 
job,  isn't  it?" 

Mary  looked  up,  and  her  lips  moved,  but  she  could 
not  speak  a  word.  She  struggled  a  few  moments,  and 
then  burst  into  tears.  Her  husband  took  her  by  the 
arm,  and  drew  her  upon  his  lap,  and  then  pressed  her 
to  his  bosom. 

"  Mary,"  he  whispered,  while  the  tears  ran  down 
his  cheeks,  "you  are  not  deceived.  I  am  Charley 
Nelson  once  more,  and  while  I  live,  not  by  any  act 
of  mine  shall  another  cloud  cross  your  brow."  And 
then  he  told  her  what  he  heard  on  the  previous 
Monday,  while  he  lay  behind  the  wall. 

"  Never  before,"  he  said,  "  did  I  fully  realize  how 
low  I  had  fallen;  but  the  scales -dropped  from  my 
eyes  then  as  though  some  one  had  struck  them  off 
with  a  sledge.  My  soul  started  up  to  a  standing- 
point,  from  which  all  the  tempters  of  earth  cannot 
move  it.  Your  prayers  are  answered,  my  wife." 

Time  passed  on,  and  the  cottage  once  more  as- 
sumed its  garb  of  pure  white,  and  its  whole  windows 
and  green  blinds.  The  roses  in  the  garden  smiled ; 
and  in  every  way  did  the  improvement  work.  Once 
again  was  Mary  Nelson  among  the  happiest  of  the 
happy;  and  their  children  choose  their  own  associ- 
ates now. 


THE 


UI¥ELCOME   PEEACHER. 


BY  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  HOME  CIRCLE. 


THE  UNWELCOME  PREACHER. 


IN  the  fall  of  1823,  the  Methodists  of  a  certain  town 
in  Kentucky  concluded  that  they  were  able,  though 
but  twenty-two  in  number,  fo  support  a  preacher  by 
themselves.  Accordingly,  they  wrote  to  the  confer- 
ence, requesting  the  bishop  to  make  a  station  of  their 
village.  But,  considering  their  want  of  numerical 
and  financial  strength,  it  was  deemed  all-important 
that  the  minister  sent  them  should  be  a  man  of  pop- 
ular talents,  because,  unless  he  could  command  the 
admiration  and  conciliate  the  favor  of  tlie  people, 
there  was  danger  of  failing  to  support  him. 

They  therefore  asked  for  a  Brother  Johnson,  at  that 
time  one  of  the  most  popular  and  effective  ministers 
in  the  state ;  and  made  the  getting  of  that  particular 
man  the  condition  upon  which  they  wished  to  be- 
come a  station.  To  them  it  was  clear  that  the  des- 
tinies of  Methodism,  if  not  of  Christianity  itself,  in 
that  particular  region,  depended  upon  their  having 
the  man  they  wanted  that  very  year.  It  was  thought 


170  THE    UNWELCOME    PREACHER. 

advisable,  however,  to  station  Brother  Johnson  else- 
where. 

There  was  in  the  conference  at  the  time,  a  young 
man  who  had  just  been  received  into  full  connection, 
without  experience  or  reputation  as  a  preacher,  and 
by  nature  singularly  disqualified  for  any  position 
where  his  sensibilities  were  likely  to  be  tried.  Ten- 
der hearted  and  addicted  to  gloom,  exposure  to  rude 
treatment,  or,  what  would  be  worse,  a  cold  reception 
from  those  to  whom  he  might  be  sent,  would  dis 
hearten  him  at  once.  Some  such  treatment  most 
probably  awaited  any  Inan,  save  Brother  Johnson, 
who  might  be  sent  to  the  town  of  which  we  speak ; 
yet  this  young  man  was  selected  to  go.  Fortunately, 
however,  the  bishop  was  to  accompany  him. 

It  is  known  to  as  many  as  were  acquainted  with 
Bishop  George,  that  his  most  noticeable  characteristic 
was  prayerfulness.  The  frequency,  fervor,  and  sin- 
gular power  with  which  he  addressed  the  throne  of 
grace,  are  mentioned  as  often  as  a  reminiscence  of 
him  is  made.  During  their  journey  of  two  hundred 
miles  on  horseback,  the  young  preacher  had  abund- 
ant opportunity  to  observe  and  imbibe  the  spirit  of 
this  excellent  man.  Whenever  they  stopped  for  meals, 
rest,  lodging,  or  to  see  and  encourage  some  pious  fam- 
ily, whose  residence  by  the  way  was  known  to  them, 
they  had  a  season  of  prayer. 

When  about  twelve  miles  from  the  place  of  the 


THE    UNWELCOME    PREACHER.  171 

young  man's  destination,  at  the  house  of  a  Brother  S., 
the  bishop  was  attacked  with  asthma,  a  disease  to 
which  he  was  very  liable.  The  remedies  which  usu- 
ally relieved  him  were  tried  without  effect ;  the  man 
of  God  got  no  better.  At  length  he  sent  for  the 
young  preacher,  and  directing  his  attention  to  the 
sublime  description  of  the  new  Jerusalem,  contained 
in  the  book  of  Revelation,  desired  him  to  take  his 
Bible  into  the  grove,  meditate  upon  that  passage  for 
a  season,  and  then  come  in  and  preach  to  him  about 
it;  "For,"  said  he,  "I  want  to  be  happy.  If  my 
soul  were  powerfully  blessed,  I  think  it  would  cure 
my  body." 

The  young  man,  ever  distrustful  of  his  own  powers, 
was  alarmed  at  the  idea.  He  begged  to  be  excused  ; 
and,  prompted  as  much,  perhaps,  by  fear  as  by  faith, 
recommended  to  the  bishop  his  never-failing  expedi- 
ent for  "  getting  happy" — prayer. 

"  Well,"  said  the  sick  man,  "  go  out,  my  son,  and 
shut  the  door ;  let  me  be  left  alone." 

His  wish  was  complied  with.  In  another  moment 
he  was  composing  his  mind  to  its  favorite  employ- 
ment :  Elijah,  wrapped  in  the  mantle  of  prayer,  was 
alone  with  God. 

For  a  moment  all  was  silent;  but  at  length  loud 
and  repeated  praises  issued  from  the  sick-room.  The 
family  gathered  round  to  rejoice  with  the  man  of 
prayer ;  and  the  immediate  effect  of  the  excitement 


172    THE  UNWELCOME  PREACHER. 

was  a  cure  of  the  malady  so  effectual  that  the  travel- 
ers proceeded  on  their  journeyin  the  morning. 

But  before  they  started,  the  good  brother  with 
whom  they  were  sojourning,  broke  to  the  unsuspect- 
ing young  preacher  the  shocking  intelligence,  already 
in  the  reader's  possession,  that  he  would  be  an  un- 
welcome arrival  in  the  place  of  his  appointment. 
Of  course,  he  was  sunk  at  once  in  the  deepest 
dejection.  Possessed  with  keen  perceptions  of  the 
painful,  nervously  sensitive  to  any  unkindness,  he 
was  the  very  man  to  be  overwhelmed  in  such  a 
situation.  Personal  danger,  trial,  toil,  would  not 
have  daunted  him,  but  to  be  coldly  pushed  off  as 
not  welcome,  to  feel  that  he  was  imposed  upon  a 
people  who  did  not  want  him,  was  what  he  could 
not  bear.  Instantly  resolving,  therefore,  not  to 
submit  to  such  a  mortification,  he  hastened  to  com- 
municate his  discovery  and  his  purpose  to  the 
superintendent.  The  bishop,  aware  of  the  feeling 
of  revolt  with  which  his  prote'ge'  was  liable  to  be 
met,  exhorted  him,  nevertheless,  to  determine  upon 
nothing  rashly;  to  wait  till  he  saw  the  place  and 
the  people,  and,  in  the  meanwhile,  give  himself  to 
prayer;  adding,  that  he  had  felt  persuaded  all  the 
while  that  the  appointment  was  "right,"  and  in 
the  end  would  prove  providential.  This  advice  was 
reluctantly  taken. 

Arrived  at  the  new  station,  they  were  guests  of  a 


THE    UNWELCOME    PREACHER.  173 

prominent  member  of  the  Church,  known  for  many 
years  afterward  as  the  usual  host  and  friend  of  the 
preachers.  The  next  morning,  as  the  bishop  was 
preparing  to  pursue  his  journey,  he  and  the  good 
brother  of  the  house  were  conversing  together  in  the 
parlor,  while,  unknown  to  them,  and  without  design, 
the  young  preacher  was  sitting  on  the  porch  near  the 
window,  with  nothing  but  a  thin  curtain  between 
him  and  them ;  so  that  what  passed  within  was  dis- 
tinctly audible  to  him. 

"  "Well,  brother,"  said  the  bishop,  "  how  will  the. 
young  man  do  ?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  he  will  not  do  at  all,  sir ;  we  might 
as  well  be  left  without  a  preacher  altogether,"  was 
the  emphatic  reply. 

"  O,  I  hope  you  will  like  him  better  after  a  while," 
replied  the  old  man.  "  Treat  him  kindly,  and  I  am 
persuaded  he  will  do  you  good." 

"  I  have  no  objection,"  returned  the  host,  "  to  his 
staying  at  my  house  for  a  few  weeks,  if  you  desire 
it,  but  it  will  be  useless;  he  is  not  the  one  we 
wanted." 

The  poor  young  man  could  bear  no  more;  he 
crept  from  the  porch  almost  blind  with  mortifica- 
tion. The  thought  that  he  was  to  remain  with  a 
people  who  considered  him  a  tolerated  burden ;  that 
every  mouthful  he  ate  was  to  be  a  charity;  that  he 
was  to  be  a  young,  healthy  mendicant,  sickened  him! 


174  THE    UNWELCOME    PBEACHEB. 

He  was  lying  in  wait  as  the  bishop  sallied  forth, 
and  drawing  him  to  a  spot  where  they  were  shelter- 
ed from  observation,  he  burst  into  tears,  exclaiming, 
"  O,  bishop,  I  cannot  stay ;  I  heard  what  passed  in 
the  room,  and  indeed  you  must  release  me." 

"Can  you  get  your  horse  and  ride  a  little  way 
with  me?" 

This  he  did  with  alacrity ;  glad  of  even  an  hour's 
respite  from  his  painful  position.  , 

After  riding  a  few  miles,  they  turned  off  into  the 
woods,  and  dismounting  by  a  fallen  tree,  engaged 
in  solemn  and  importunate  prayer;  prayer  for  light 
arid  help  in  that  dark  and  trying  hour.  Then,  taking 
the  hand  of  his  companion,  the  bishop  turned  upon 
him  a  look  of  love,  which  none  but  a  strong,  stern 
heart  can  feel;  so  deep  and  genuine  was  it,  so  full 
of  serious  concern  and  earnest  sympathy. 

He  concluded  an  address  fraught  with  parental 
feeling  and  sound  wisdom,  with,  "Now,  my  son,  I 
will  make  you  a  proposition :  see  if  you  can  fulfill 
the  conditions  of  it : 

"  Go  back  to  town ;  if  you  find  a  cross  there,  bear 
it;  diligently  and  lovingly  perform  every  part  of 
your  duty;  'do  the  work  of  an  evangelist;'  fast  once 
a  week,  and  spend  one  hour  of  each  day  in  special 
prayer,  that  God  may  open  your  way  in  that  com- 
munity ;  do  this  for  one  month,  and  at  the  end  of 
that  term,  if  you  do  not  feel  willing  to  stay,  consider 


THE    UNWELCOME    PREACHER.  176 

yourself  released  from  the  appointment.  Can  you 
do  this?" 

He  thought  he  could:  upon  which  they  took  an 
affectionate  leave  of  each  other,  and  Enoch  George — 
what  signifies  a  title  to  such  a  man  ? — turned  toward 
the  southwest,  and  resumed  his  pilgrimage  of  hard- 
ships. The  young  man  sat  upon  his  horse  watching 
the  receding  form  till  it  sank  out  of  sight  below  the 
horizon.  Not  until  that  moment  had  he  fairly 
tasted  the  exquisite  bitterness  of  his  cup.  The  "  man- 
angel,"  upon  whom  he  had  leaned,  was  gone, 
and  he  was  left  to  grapple  with  his  trial  alone.  He 
could  have  sobbed  like  any  boy. 

Faithfully  did  he  comply  with  the  conditions  of 
his  promise  through  all  the  tedious  month,  without 
discerning  any  material  change  in  his  own  feelings 
or  in  the  bearing  of  his  people  toward  him ;  albeit 
one  wicked  man  and  his  wife  had  from  the  begin- 
ning endeavored  to  encourage  him. 

Finally  the  last  Sabbath  arrived  of  the  month 
during  which  he  had  promised  to  stay.  The  glad 
village  bells  were  pealing  their  summons  to  the 
house  of  God,  as  our  hero — was  he  not  a  hero? — arose 
from  the  struggle  of  the  last  covenanted  hour  of 
prayer.  He  walked  toward  the  little  attic  window, 
which  commanded  a  view  of  most  of  the  streets, 
wiping  his  eyes  and  thinking  of  the  few  reluctant 
hearers  who  awaited  him,  when,  lo !  what  a  sight 


176  THE    UNWELCOME    PREACHER. 

met  his  gaze !  Group  after  group  of  citizens  were 
flocking  toward  the  Methodist  Church!  At  first  a 
sense  of  awe  came  over  him,  and  then  a  class  of 
mingled  feelings,  as  if  confidence,  and  strength,  and 
joy  were  storming  the  heart,  while  fear,  and  weakness, 
and  mortification  still  disputed  the  right  of  possession. 

He  hastened  to  his  pulpit,  and  as  he  arose  from 
the  first  silent  prayer,  the  thought  of  victory  thrilled 
through  him  like  the  voice  of  a  clarion.  His  text 
was  Isaiah  6,  iv :  "  And  the  posts  of  the  door  moved 
at  the  voice  of  him  that  cried."  The  attention  of 
the  audience  was  arrested  by  the  announcement,  for 
the  voice  that  had  been  wont  to  tremble  with 
embarrassment,  now  rang  clear  with  a  tone  of 
authority;  his  eye,  hitherto  confused  and  unsteady, 
now  kindled  with  "  a  light  that  never  shined  on  sea 
or  shore."  Fresh  from  the  chamber  where  he  had 
just  accomplished  his'  thirtieth  hour  of  special 
prayer,  the  live  coal  had  touched  his  lips ;  he  was 
with  a  witness,  "  a  man  sent  from  &od,"  and  glori- 
ously baptized  with  the  Holy  Ghost. 

He  referred  his  text  back  to  the  point  at  which 
Christ  first  interposed  for  man's  salvation ;  the  voice 
that  cried,  "  Lo !  I  come  to  dotthy  will :"  he  applied 

it  to  the  sacrificial  offering  of  Jesus ;  the  voice  that 

m 

cried,  "  It  is  finished ;"  he  carnal  forward  the  appli- 
cation to  "  the  right  hand  of  the  Majesty  on  high," 
where  the  intercessor  makes  his  dying  words  immor 


THE    UNWELCOME    PREACHER.          177 

tal,  crying  with  infinite  iteration,  "Father,  forgive 
them ;"  to  the  day  when  sound  shall  make  its  next 
impression  upon  "  the  dull  cold  ear  of  death ;"  when 
at  the  "  voice  of  the  Son  of  God,  the  dead,  small  and 
great,  shall  rise." 

The  power  of  the  Highest  was  manifestly  upon 
the  audience,  and  the  presence  of  an  embassador  of 
Christ  was  attested  by  sobs  and  groans  from  every 
part  of  the  house.  The  preacher  descended  from 
the  pulpit  without  pausing  in  his  discourse,  and 
invited  to  the  place  of  prayer  those  who  desired  to 
flee  the  wrath  to  come.  With  loud  cries  for  mercy, 
sinners  came  streaming  down  the  aisle,  and  before 
the  congregation  was  dismissed  seven  souls  professed 
to  find  peace  in  believing. 

When  the  meeting  broke  up,  the  pastor  hastened 
back  to  his  closet.  Many  a  time  had  he  entered  it 
disheartened  and  sad,  never  before  in  triumph.  He 
thought  of  good  Bishop  George,  and  his  steady 
persuasion  that  the  appointment  was  "  right ;"  of  the 
fastings  and  prayers,  all  the  way  down  to  the  last 
hour's  experience ;  and  his  faith  in  God,  and  in  the 
efficacy  of  prayer,  then  and  there  settled  down  into  a 
substance  upon  which  tyne  has  made  no  impression. 
Thirty-one  years  of  toil  and  change  have  passed  since 
that  sweet  Sabbath  ;  tne  vicissitudes  of  an  itinerant's 
life  have  led  him  through  heat  and  cold,  by  night 
and  day,  from  one  end  of  Kentucky  to  the  other,  till 


178          THE    UNWELCOME    PREACHER. 

"  He  is  known  to  every  star, 
And  every  wind  that  blows." 

Forms  then  unknown,  afterward  became  dear  as  life, 
and  then  perished  from  his  sight ;  "  sickness  and 
sorrow,  pain  and  death,"  have  left  their  scars  upon 
his  form  and  heart,  but  nothing  has  ever  shaken 
his  confidence  in  the  God  that  answers  prayer.  The 
memory  of  that  bright  morning  is  as  fresh  beneath 
his  gray  hairs  as  it  was  beneath  his  locks  of  jet. 
Like  trampled  chamomile,  the  virtues  of  his  spirit 
took  deeper  root  for  being  bruised,  and  shed  a  per- 
fume that  has  sweetened  life's  atmosphere  £ver  since. 

For  four  weeks  very  little  else  was  attended  to 
but  the  revival.  Stores  and  shops  were  closed 
during  the  hours  of  worship,  which  occurred  twice 
and  often  three  times  a  day.  At  one  of  the  meetings 
held  in  a  private  house,  ( where  the  venerable  John 
Littlejohn  was  present,)  a  call  was  made  for  those 
who  wished  to  join  the  Church,  and  one  hundred  and 
eleven  persons  presented  themselves  for  admission ! 

Thus  the  permanent  establishment  of  Methodism 
in  Russelville,  Kentucky,  was  effected,  under  God, 
through  the  instrumentality  of  the  "UNWELCOME 
"PKEACHEK." 

It  will  doubtless  add  to  the  interest  of  the  fore- 
going narrative  for  the  reader  to  know,  that  the 
subject  of  it  is  now  the  worthy  Book  Agent  of  the 
Church,  South,  Rev.  E.  Stevenson,  D.  D. 


MAR  EYING    RICH 


BY    REV.  W.   B.    SLAUGHTER. 


12 


MARRYING   RICH. 


CHAPTEK  I. 

AT  the  end  of  a  pretty  lane,  along  the  sides  of 
which  thrifty  maple-trees  furnished  a  grateful  shade 
during  the  warm  summer  months,  stood  the  cottage 
of  Farmer  Barnwell.  A  beautiful  lawn,  skirted  by 
shrubbery  and  dotted  over  with  pyramid  ever- 
greens, all  tastefully  arranged,  spread  out  in  front 
of  the  cottage.  An  open  porch  afforded  an  agree- 
able place  to  pass  away  a  twilight  hour.  The  doors 
and  windows  were  decorated  with  the  queen  of  the 
prairie,  intermingled  with  jasmine  and  honeysuckle, 
which  climbed  together  the  trellis,  and  hung  in 
graceful  tresses  in  the  air.  Altogether,  it  was  a 
lovely  place,  quiet  and  inviting.  Within,  the  same 
taste  that  was  evinced  in  the  surrounding  grounds, 
was  displayed  in  the  order  and  neatness  that  pre- 
vailed* in  every  apartment.  The  farmer's  good  wife 
was  a  model  of  excellence,  in  her  own  proper  sphere. 


182  MARRYING    RICH. 

If  you  could  have  inspected  the  barns  and  yards, 
and  the  fields  beyond,  you  would  have  found  every- 
thing indicative  of  the  same  care,  and  order,  and 
thrift. 

The  farm  was  not  large,  and  the  farmer  had  per- 
formed most  of  the  work  himself.  It  was  wonderful, 
the  neighbors  said,  that  he  could  accomplish  so 
much.  He  never  seemed  in  a  hurry,  yet  he  always 
was  up  with  his  work.  Now  the  secret  of  this  was, 
that  he  had  learned  how  to  practice  the  rule,  "Every- 
thing in  its  time,  and  everything  in  its  place."  In 
the  cold  days  of  winter  you  might  have  found  him 
in  his  little  shop,  mending  rakes,  and  plows,  and 
grain  cradles,  and  other  utensils  of  the  farm.  And 
then  you  might  have  observed,  too,  that  each  article 
was  put  away  carefully  where*  it  was  safe  from  all 
exposure.  It  was  not  so  strange,  after  all,  that  the 
farm  was  productive,  that  Farmer  Barnwell  never 
was  harassed  in  the  summer-time  with  breaking 
tools,  that  his  cattle  did  not  die  as  other  i^rmers' 
cattle  did  as  the  spring  came  on.  It  was  not  so 
strange,  yet  the  people  wondered  at  it  all,  and  said 
that  he  was  always  "  in  luck,"  and  so  they  went  on 
in  their  own  way.*  There  was  another  thing  they 
wondered  at.  Farmer  Barnwell  had  a  choice  col- 
lection of  books.  Some  of  the  best  agricultural 
works  were  on  his  shelves,  and  he  found  time,  not 
only  to  read  them,  but  to  study  them.  And  then  he 


MARRYING    RICH.        •  183 

had  managed  to  procure  the  best  fruits,  and  the 
trees  were  carefully  trimmed,  and  when  the  cold 
winter  came  on  they  were ,  mulched,  and  thus  they 
escaped  the  fate  of  other  men's  trees,  and  grew  in 
beautiful  thriftiness  and  tasteful  forms.  Many  per- 
sons, it  must  be  confessed,  could  not  understand  why 
his  trees  always  lived  through  the  hard  winters,  and 
why  they  always  bent  under  a  burden  of  delicious 
fruits.  But  so  it  was,  they  could  not  deny  it,  and  so 
they  reasoned  that  he  was  a  "lucky  fellow."  And 
thus  the  years  went  on,  one  after  another,  and  Farmer 
Barnwell  was  a  man  of  forty-five  at  the  time  our 
story  commences,  and  everybody  said  he  was  "  well 
to  do"  in  the  world.  He  had  not  bought  other  lands, 
because  he  had  enough ;  and  he  thought  it  was  better 
to  till  the  soil  well  and  get  grateful  returns,  than  to 
skin  its  surface  for  scant  products. 

And  Farmer  Barnwell  had  one  son.  He  was  now 
a  man.  The  father's  thrift  had  enabled  him  to  give 
him  the  advantages  of  a  thorough  education.  He 
had  but  just  returned  from  college,  where  he  had 
graduated  with  honor. 

Charles  Barnwell  was  a  modest  boy.  His  whole 
soul  had  been  engrossed  in  the  earnest  toil  after 
knowledge.  He  had  studied  as 'many  do  not  study, 
because  he  loved  the  truth  for  its  own  sake.  The 
facts  and  principles  of  science  he  imbibed,  as  a 
thirsty  man  would  drink  water,  to  satisfy  the  cravings 


184  MARRYING    RICH. 

of  his  mind.  He  had  graduated,  but  he  thought  not 
once  that  his  education  was  completed.  He  had  in 
view  no  profession. 

The  old  homestead  was  associated-  with  his  most 
hallowed  memories,  and  he  had  resolved  to  devote 
himself  to  the  cultivation  of  the  soil.  He  loved  its 
rural  quiet,  its  health-giving  labor,  and  its  invigorating 
exposure.  He  assured  himself  that  he  should  here 
have  an  enlarged  sphere  of  exi)loration  after  scien- 
tific truth.  He  thought  the  vocation  of  the  husband- 
man more  independent,  and  truly  noble,  than  any 
other.  The  intricacies  and  perplexities  of  a  profess- 
ional life  he  never  could  endure.  He  was  an  enthu- 
siast in  farming  as  much  as  an  artist  could  be  in  his 
art. 

We  have  thus  introduced  the  worthy  family  of 
Barnwell  to  our  readers,  and  the  beautiful  place 
they  called  their  home.  If  intelligence,  industry, 
refined  taste  in  rural  embellishments,  and  thrift, 
constitute  elements  of  happiness,  the  Barnwells  were 
a  happy  family.  And  so  they  were.-  For  to  these 
elements  we  must  add  that  they  were  a  truly  pious 
family.  The  old  family  Bible  was  well  read.  The 
altar  of  prayer  was  ever  held  sacred.  And  the 
library  was  well  stored  with  excellent  religious 
books. 

But  the  best  of  people  have  their  weaknesses ; 
and  good  Mrs.  Barnwell  would  have  been  a  singular 


MARRYING    RICJfc  *  186 

« 

lady  indeed,  if  she  had  not  any  weak  point.  It 
was  her  misfortune  to  think  too  much  of  money. 
She  had  alw^rs  been  industrious,  and  prudent,  and 
economical.  All  that  was  needed  to  educate  her  son 
she  had  most  cheerfully  appropriated  for  that  pur- 
pose. In  fact,  she  did  not  so  much  desire  wealth  for 
her  own  personal  enjoyment  as  that  she  might 
bestow  it  upon  him.  She  doted  upon  him  as  mothers 
only  can  dote,  and  with  better  reason  than  most 
mothers  have,  for  he  was  truly  noble  and  worthy. 
Perhaps,  too,  that  rigid  economy,  which  was  neces- 
sary when  they  were  poor,  and  which  had  become  a 
habit  while  saving  the  means  to  educate  Charles,  had 
contributed  to  give  her  a  higher  notion  of  the  value 
of  wealth  than  she  would  otherwise  have  had.  Now 
whatever  may  have  been  the  origin  .of  that  feeling,  it 
was,  at  the  time  embraced  in  our  narrative,  her 
greatest  failing.  The  exhibition  of  it  will  be  seen  in 
the  following  chapter. 


186*  MARRYING    RICH. 


CHAPTER' H. 

CHAKLES  and  his  mother  were  sitting  in  the  large 
east  room,  toward  the  close  of  the  day.  The  sun 
shone  brightly  upon  the  opposite  hill,  and  the  fresh 
spring  breezes  floated  gently  through  the  foliage  of 
the  surrounding  trees.  The  mother  evidently  wished 
to  introduce  a  subject  of  importance,  and  with  some 
effort  she  at  length  began : 

"  Charles,  you  are  now  twenty-three.  You  have 
finished  your  education,  and  have  come  home  to 
stay.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  happy  I  am  to  have  you 
back  again." 

"  I  am  equally  happy,  to  be"  here,  mother.  Indeed, 
I  have  always  longed  for  this  quiet  home." 

"It  has  cost  a  great  deal  of  money  to  give  you 
your  fine  education,  Charles." 

"I  know  it,  mother;  and  it  has  cost  you  many 
other  sacrifices.  In  all  my  absence  this  has  been  the 
only  thing  that  has  cast  a  shadow  on  my  heart.  Yet, 
mother,  had  the  money  and  the  time  been  all  my 
own,  I  should  have  felt  that  both  were  well  invested 
in  the  acquisitions  I  have  made." 

"And  so  I  do,  my  son.  I  do  not  mention  it  be- 
cause I  regret  it  at  all.  No,  no;  I  am  proud  of  it  all, 


MARRYING    RICH.  187 

and  I  am  proud  of  my  boy.  You  have  not  disap- 
pointed me,  and  I  don't  think  you  will." 

"  I  should  be  ungrateful  to  disappoint  your  expec- 
tations, mother.  As  I  love  you,  I  shall  ever  strive  to 
honor  you." 

"  But,  Charles,  what  are  your  plans  for  the  future  ? 
We  must  have  some  plans,  my  son." 

"Yes.  But  have  I  not  always  said  that  I  was 
coming  home  to  be  a  farmer,  when  I  got  through 
college?" 

"  To  be  sure.  But  then  there  are  other  plans,  you 
know.  You  must  have  some  other  plans,  haven't 
you?" 

"About  what?" 

"Well — about — why — about — getting  a  wife,  for 
instance." 

"Why,  really,"  said  Charles,  laughing,  "I  can't 
say  that  I  have  any  very  specific  plans  about  that. 
I  have,  certainly,  a  sort  of  vague  impression  that 
'  marriage  is  honorable,'  and  that  a  '  wife  is  a  good 
thing,'  but  that  would  hardly  amount  to  a  plan, 
would  it?" 

"  O,  you  want  to  evade  the  subject." 

"No,  I  am  willing  to  converse  seriously  on  that 
subject  with  you,  my  dear  mother.  And  may  I 
inquire,  have  you  any  plan  in  my  behalf?" 

"  Well,  I  want  you  to  do  well." 

"  That  is  very  natural,  but  not  very  definite." 


188  MAEEYING    EICH. 

"  Well,  then,  I  want  you  to  marry  rich" 

"That  may  be  difficult." 

"  Not  at  all.  You  are  good-looking.  You  have 
an  excellent  education.  You  can  go  in  the  best 
society.  And  you  can  get  a  rich  girl,  if  you  try. 
I'm  sure  you  can." 

"  Do  you  know  one  that  you  think  I  could  get  ?" 

"  Yes.  Miss  Marks  has  been  left  with  a  handsome 
fortune  in  her  own  right,  and  when  her  grandfather 
dies  she  will  inherit  all  his  vast  estates."- 

"  How  much  is  she  worth  now,  mother  ?" 

"  Not  less  than  twenty  thousand." 

"  Are  you  much  acquainted  with  the  girl  ?" 

"  No.  I  have  seen  her  a  few  times  abroad.  She 
visits  at  the  Petersons,  who  are  a  very  aristocratic 
family." 

"  Does  she  go  into  our  society  much  ?" 

"  No." 

"  I  have  met  her  myself,  mother,  and  think  I  know 
her.  In  the  first  place,  I  am  obliged  to  say  that  she 
is  not  familiar  with  the  better  class  of  society.  Her" 
father  was  a  craven  money-lender.  He  made  a  for- 
tune by  oppressing  the  poor.  The  greed  of  gain  con- 
sumed him,  and  he  died  young,  of  very  avarice. 
His  father  had  trained  him  up  for  such  a  life,  and  he 
infused  his  spirit  into  his  daughter  also.  She  is 
utterly  incapable  of  any  noble  endeavors.  Her 
education  is  limited.  Her  mind  is  ever  groveling. 


MARRYING    RICH.  189 

She  has  none  of  those  accomplishments,  none  of  that 
refinement  and  feminine  delicacy  of  sentiment  that 
is  a  passport  to  good  society.  She  gloats  over  her 
wealth,  and  assumes  airs  that  are  offensive.  That 
class  of  aristocrats  to  which  she  belongs,  and  with 
whom  she  moves,  are  known  among  men  as  snobs. 
They  have  an  artificial  and  vicious  standard  of 
etiquette.  I  don't  feel  much  like  assuming  any 
of  the  honors  of  such  a  connection,  mother." 
"  But  you  will  not  forget  that  she  is  very  rich." 
"No.  Nor  can  I  forget  that  she  possesses  a  nar- 
row and  vulgar  mind.  Her  money  can  never  buy 
for  her  those  qualities  that  a  woman  must  have  to 
make  her  husband  happy." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  too  sentimental." 
"  No.     I  look  at  this  matter  in  a  utilitarian  light. 
What  should  I  gain  by  such  a  marriage  ?" 

"You  would  get  twenty  thousand  dollars  and  a 
wife." 

"A  wife?  Ah,  that  word,  in  my  mind,  has  al- 
ways imported  goodness,  nobleness,  amiability,  devo- 
tion. Why,  that  is  the  holiest  word  in  the  language, 
aside  from  the  name  of  Deity." 

"  Would  you  rank  it  above  the  word  mother  f" 

"In  some  respects,  no;   in  others,  yes.     To  the 

husband,  wife  is  the  most  hallowed  name;    to  the 

sou,  mother.     But   we  should  remember  that  the 

woman  may  bear  both  these  hallowed  names.     Miss 


190  MARRYING   RICH. 

Marks  is  not  such  a  person  as  I  could  place  in  either 
relation.  Why,  I  have  seen  her  turn  the  poor  from 
her  door  in  scorn,  and  her  name  for  charity  is  a  by- 
word. But  I  really  think  that  I  can  do  better  than 
marry  Miss  Marks.  To  be  honest,  I  think  I  can 
marry  richer" 

"  Well,  if  you  <pan,  I  will  be  satisfied." 

"Will  you,  mother?" 

"  Certainly ;  and  be  glad  of  it  too." 

"  Well,  I  can  do  it,  and  I  will.  In  fact,  I  have 
had  more  thought  on  this  subject  than  I  have  ut- 
tered." 

"Where  can  you  find  a  girl  worth  more  than 
twenty  thousand  dollars,  that  you  can  win  ?" 

"  Well,  mother,  I  may  as  well  make  my  confession 
first  as  last.  I  have  seen  a  young  lady  whose  wealth, 
if  all  I  have  heard  be  true,  is  many  times  greater 
than  that  of  Miss  Marks.  I  have  been  assured  that 
she  is  highly  connected,  and  I  have  learned  from 
herself  that  she  is  willing  to  bestow  all  her  treasures, 
with  her  own  hand,  upon  me.  If  I  may  but  have 
your  blessing  upon  my  union  with  her,  I  hope  to  be 
the  richest  man  in  all  this  region.  Now  will  you 
allow  me  to  follow  my  own  inclination  in  this 
matter?  I  assure  you,  my  mother  shall  never 
have  occasion  to  blush  at  the  choice  her  son  has 
made." 

"  Yes,  certainly.      I'm  glad  you  have  not  been 


MARRYING    RICH.  191 

*• 

so  foolish  as  to  neglect  the  good  fortune  thus  offered 
you." 

Little  did  Mrs.  Barn-well  understand  the  import 
of  her  son's  words.  Little  did  she  dream  of  the 
mortification  and  sorrow  in  store  for  her. 


CHAPTEK 


CHAELES  BABNWELL  had  always  acquitted  himself 
well  in  his  career  as  a  student.  His  mind  was  of 
that  symmetrical  cast  that  admits  of  seriousness 
without  severity,  and  sprightliness  without  levity. 
An  ardent  lover  of  truth,  he  was  energetic  in  its 
acquirements.  Esteeming  the  society  of  the  wise 
and  the  good,  his  walks  were  among  the  purest 
and  most  elevated  circles.  Deeply  pious,  he  was 
ever  happiest  when  lie  was  mingling  with  those 
whose  conversation  was  in  heaven.  It  would  be 
expected  that  he  would  be  found  often  in  those 
places  where  Christians  meet  for  social  worship. 

The  L  -  College  was  celebrated  for  the  religious 
influence  that  generally  prevailed  among  its  mem 
bers.  No  season  passed  without  a  gracious  revival 
of  religion  in  the  town  where  it  was  located.  Be- 


192  MARRYING    RICH. 

tween  the  citizens  of  the  town  and  the  students  of 
the  college,  there  subsisted  an  intimacy  of  inter- 
course and  a  sympathy  of  feeling  that  seldom  are 
seen  at  such  institutions.  They  had  little  about 
which  to  wrangle,  and  much  in  which  to  affiliate 
and  cordially  work  together.  Let  the  reader  ac- 
company us  to  the  house  of  God  on  a  sweet  May 
evening.  The  people  are  quietly  and  cheerfully  as- 
sembling for  social  worship.  The  exercises  com- 
mence and  proceed  with  sweet  and  uniform  anima- 
tion. Now  the  song  of  praise  goes  up  like  incense 
to  heaven;  now  from  the  bended  knee  the  yearning 
heart  pleads  with  God. 

Hark !  that  voice  is  not  recognized  in  this  house 
of  worship.  It'  is  a  female  voice.  The  language  of 
the  petition  is  such  as  irresistibly  to  arrest  the  at- 
tention of  every  one  present.  So  elevated  the 
thought ;  so  pure  and  chaste  the  diction ;  so  calm 
and  subdued  the  tone ;  so  deep  and  soul-thrilling 
the  pathos.  The  soul  of  the  petitioner  evidently 
wrestled  calmly,  earnestly,  and  mightily  with  God. 
The  words  of  the  prayer  burned  into  the  very  soul 
of  each  one  who  heard  them,  and  the  whole  assem- 
bly was  pervaded  with  the  thrilling  power  of  that 
one  heart's  prevailing  utterances.  On  no  one  did 
the  prayer  of  the  stranger  make  a  deeper  impression 
than  on  Charles  Barnwell.  He  felt,  as  only  a  re- 
fined and  noble  mind  can  feel,  the  depth  of  import 


MARRYING    RICH.  193 

that  attended  the  most  pure  and  glowing  language 
he  had  ever  heard. 

Yon  will  pardon  him,  kind  reader,  for  resolving 
then  and  there,  to  avail  himself  of  the  first  op- 
portunity to  become  acquainted  personally  with  the 
person  in  whom  he  was  so  much  interested. 

He  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  He  had  been  ac- 
customed to  drop  in  now  and  then  at  the  meeting 
of  a  sewing-circle.  This  circle  met  the  next  day. 
He  resolved  to  attend  it,  and  as  he  had  often  done 
before,  inquire  in  what  way  he  and  his  associates 
could  aid  the  objects  of  the  society.  Full  of  the  hope 
that  he  might  meet  this  lady  there,  he  proceeded  to 
the  place  of  meeting.  More  than  once  he  detected 
himself  asking  why  he  felt  such  an  interest  in  her. 
She  was  to  hicpt  a  stranger.  He  had  seen  her  only 
the  evening  before,  and  then  he  had  seen  but  little 
of  her.  He  could  not  say  she  appeared  beautiful, 
but  there  was  something  in  the  deep,  rich,  subdued 
pathos  of  her  voice,  something  in  the  glowing  fervor 
of  her  soul,  that  fascinated  him. 

The  ladies  were  assembled,  and  in  the  midst  of 
their  work,  when  he  made  his  appearence.  He  re- 
ceived their  cordial  salutations,  and  returned  them 
with  a  cordiality  equal  to  that  with  which  they 
were  offered.  There  was  one  lady  well  known  to 
him  on  account  of  her  self-sacrificing,  devoted,  relig- 
ions life  She  was  a  widow,  living  in  humble 


194  MARRYING    RICH. 

privacy,  yet  doing  much  good  silently  and  meekly. 
She  was  poor.  Her  own  hands  earned  her  dayly 
bread.  Mrs.  Gray  was  at  this  time  accompanied 
by  a  young  lady.  A  glance  informed  him  that 
she  was  the  person  whose  acquaintance  he  so  much 
desired.  As  soon,  therefore,  as  he  could  do  so  with- 
out apparent  haste,  he  placed  himself  by  the  side 
of  his  friend  and  entered  into  conversation.  He 
was  immediately  introduced  to  M-iss  Ellen  Gray, 
and  the  conversation  was  carried  on  between  them. 
"We  will  not  undertake  to  report  their  conversa- 
tion in  detail.  Yery  naturally,  the  business-  of  the 
circle  suggested  the  destitution  and  wretchedness  of 
multitudes  of  our  race,  the  best  methods  of  reaching 
the  benighted  heathen  with  the  light  of  the  Gospel, 
and  the  power  of  that  Gospel  to  quicfoen  and  elevate 
the  race.  In  these  subjects  she  evinced  a  zeal  full 
of  sympathy  and  intelligence.  Charles  was  filled 
with  admiration  at  the  extent  and  variety  of  the  in- 
formation she  possessed,  and  fascinated  with  the  ease 
and  grace  of  her  conversation.  He  watched  the  ex- 
pression of  her  countenance  as  she  talked.  Now  the 
bright  light  of  her  deep  blue  eye  would  seem  to 
scintillate  around  him;  now  a  shade  of  sadness 
would  pass  over  her,  and  now  the  utmost  gentle- 
ness and  tenderness  would  blend  upon  her  features. 
Altogether,  when  he  retired  from  her  charming  pres- 
ence, Charles  Barnwell  confessed  to  himself  that  she 


MARRYING    RICH.  195 

had  become  to  him  an  object  of  very  tender  regard. 
He  was  in  love.  Still  he  wished  he  could  know 
something  of  her  history.  He  had  entered  his  last 
year  as  a  student.  He  must  not  allow  his  mind  to 
be  too  much  occupied  with  such  a  matter  as  love. 
But  no,  he  wouldn't  do  that.  He  begged  to  know 
of  himself  if  he  could  not  maintain  his  self-mastery. 
True,  he  admired  Miss  Gray,  and  who,  that  had  met 
with  her  and  conversed  with  her,  would  not  ?  There 
was  nothing  strange  in  his  admiration  of  her.  Surely 
it  would  do  him  no  harm  to  run  in  at  Mrs.  Gray's 
now  and  then,  and  enjoy  an  hour  of  pleasant  chat 
with  her  and  her  beautiful  niece. 

In  spite  of  himself,  however,  he  often  found  his 
thoughts  wandering  away  from  the  book  before  liim 
to  the  humble  -cottage  and  its  inmates.  We  do  him 
but  justice,  however,  in  acknowledging  that  he  put 
his  vagrant  thoughts  under  arrest  at  such  times,  and 
dragged  them  back  to  their  task. 

One  evening,  while  taking  the  air  just  for  his 
health's  sake,  nothing  else,  certainly,  Charles  found 
himself  sauntering  along  by  the  little  cottage.  It 
was  quite  a  matter  of  course  that  he  should  just  call. 
"  But  what  is  the  matter  with  me  ?"  he  said  to  him- 
self as  he  opened  the  gate ;  "  I  do  believe  I  shall  suf- 
focate." Poor  fellow!  his  heart  was  in  his  throat. 
His  knees  trembled,  and  he  felt  that  his  face  was 

crimson.    He  never  felt  so  before  when  he  made  a 

13 


196  MARRYING    RICH. 

call  on  Mrs.  Gray.  But  this  was  the  first  time  he 
had  called  since  the  niece  arrived.  Perhaps  that 
would  account  for  feelings  so  unusual. 

Miss  Gray  had  an  opportunity  now  to  take  the 
part  of  an  entertainer,  being  at  home.  And  well 
did  she  perform  her  part.  Charles  was  soon  made 

» 

easy  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies,  and  an  hour  pass- 
ed more  pleasantly,  it  seemed  to  him,  than  ever  an 
hour  passed  before.  Did  he  not  betray  his  emotions? 
One  of  the  three  was  suspicious  of  the  fact  that  he 
was  more  than  interested  in  the  conversation.  The 
widow  Gray  had  observed  the  effect  which  her 
niece's  presence  had  produced  on  him,  and  she 
secretly  attributed  it  to  the  right  cause.  Nor  was 
she  disquieted  with  her  suspicion.  The  reputation 
of  Charles  Barnwell  was  such  as  commended  to  her 
any  attachment  that  might  grow  up  between  him 
and  her  niece. 

w 

Ko  one  in  L knew   anything  of  the  young 

lady's  former  history.  All  that  was  known  of  her 
was,  that  her  father  was  Mrs.  Gray's  brother,  and  had 
resided  in  a  distant  state.  It  was  said  that  he  had  a 
moderate  station  in  life,  and  was  respected  by  his 
fellow-citizens.  No  one  knew  his  circumstances  in 
respect  to  property.  Some  said  that  he  was  poor, 
others  that  he  had  a  competence.  But  if  the  apparel 
of  the  daughter  was  any  index  to  the  circumstances 
of  the  father,  it  was  evident  that  he  must  be  a  poor 


MARRYING    RICH.  19T 

man.  It  was  observed  that  she  never  appeared  in 
anything  but  the  plainest  garb.  The  material  of  her 
wardrobe  was  uniformly  common,  if  not  coarse.  Yet 
whatever  she  wore,  she  moved  with  the  same  calm 
dignity  and  self-possession  that  marked  the  superior 
qualities  of  her  mind.  In  her  aunt's  family  she 
seemed  as  a  maid  of  all  work,  now  in  the  kitchen, 
now  in  the  chamber,  and  now  plying  her  needle. 
Ajid  what  some  people  remarked  as  a  very  singular 
thing,  she  was  never  disquieted  by  being  taken  by 
surprise  at  her  work.  She  could  leave  her  work  and 
engage  in  conversation  with  the  utmost  ease,  and 
never  failed  to  interest  those  with  whom  she  con- 
versed. People  speculated  and  queried  much  about 
her.  It  was  odd,  they  said,  that  so  much  grace  of 
carriage,  so  much  polish  of  manner,  so  much  ease 
and  sprightliness  in  conversation,  and,  withal,  such 
evidence  of  the  highest  culture,  could  consist  with 
the  humble  position  she  seemed  to  occupy. 

All  these  queries  were  at  length  put  to  rest  by  the 
announcement  that  Miss  Gray  had  engaged  to  do 
some  needle-work  in  Squire  Little's  family.  Now 
it  was  known  that  she  must -be  a  poor  girl,  and 
though  she  was  accomplished,  as  she  was  acknowl- 
edged to  be,  it  was  evident  that  she  was  not  admis- 
sible to  the  first  class  of  society.  Of  course,  Miss 
Gray,  the  seamstress,  would  not  expect  to  associate 
on  terms  of  equality  with  the  Misses  Little. 


198  MARRYING    RICH. 

One  evening  the  young  ladies  received  a  call  from 
some  young  gentlemen  of  the  college.  Among  them 
was  our  friend,  Charles  Barnwell.  To  be  noticed  by 
this  class  of  young  gentlemen  was  always  gratifying. 
The  party  entered  gayly  into  conversation,  and  wit 
sparkled  and  flashed  in  their  sallies.  At  length 
music  was  called  for,  and  Miss  Julia  Little  led  the 
way  with  a  piece  only  tolerably  performed. 

At  length,  as  the  performances  seemed  to  languish, 
one  of  the  gentlemen  asked,  "  Is  Miss  Gray  with 
you  now  ?" 

"Yes,  she  has  been  working  for  us  a  few  days 
past." 

"  She  seems  quite  an  interesting  girl !" 

"Yes,  rather,"  said  Miss  Julia,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment added :  "  She  is  a  beautiful  seamstress." 

"  Yery  likely,"  said  Charles;  "she  would  be  beauti- 
ful in  any  occupation." 

i 

"  Charles  Barnwell  in  love  with  a  young  seam- 
stress !"  cried  two  or  three  at  once. 

"  As  you  please,  ladies,"  said  Charles,  smiling ;  "  I 
confess  I  admire  her." 

"  O !  Julia,"  said  the  youngest  Miss  Little,  "  Miss 
Gray  plays  prettily.  I  heard  her  this  morning." 

"Invite  her  in,"   said  "William  Blakeslee,  half 
ironically. 

"Do,   by    all    means,"    said    Charles   Barnwell, 
earnestly. 


MARRYING    RICH.  199 

"  O,  we  should  have  been  glad  to  invite  her  in  at 
first,"  replied  Julia,  "only  we  could  not  know  it 
would  please  you." 

Miss  Gray  was  immediately  sought  for,  and  soon 
made  her  appearance. 

"  Now,  dear  Miss  Gray,"  said  Emily,  "  you  must 
give  us  a  song.  Julia  has  been  playing,  and  we  all 
want  you  to  play  for  us." 

Notwithstanding  the  evident  ill-grace  of  the  invi- 
tation, looking,  as  it  did,  as  though  she  had  been 
called  in  merely  to  entertain  the  company,  she 
readily  complied.  There  was  no  affectation  of  airs; 
there  was  the  same  serene  dignity  united  with 
unassumed  meekness  that  always  lent  such  a  power- 
ful fascination  to  her  presence. 

While  she  drew  forth  the  full  power  of  the  instru- 
ment, every  one  looked  on  with  admiration.  It  was 
evident  that  she  was  a  proficient  in  this  beautiful 
accomplishment.  Rising  from  the  instrument,  she 
made  a  simple  apology,  and  excused  herself,  saying, 
she  had  promised  to  spend  the  evening  with  her 
aunt. 

"  And  with    your  permission,  I  will  bear    you 
company,  Miss  Gray,"  said  Charles. 


200  MARRYING    RICH. 


CHAPTER  IY. 

IT  was  now  six  months  since  Charles  had  first  met 
Miss  Gray  in  the  social  meeting.  His  interest  in  her 
had  gone  on  increasing  continually,  and  he  acknowl- 
edged to  himself  that  he  loved  her.  They  had 
often  worshiped  together.  They  had  met  frequently 
at  the  house  of  her  aunt,  and  whenever  he  had 
attempted  to  study  her  deliberately,  he  had  found 
himself  lost  in  admiring  her.  That  she  was  a  poor 
girl  was  no  objection  to  her  in  his  mind.  Her  pure 
heart,  her  high  intellectual  endowments,  her  genuine 
piety,  her  unassuming  modesty,  and  the  grace  of  her 
conversation,  fully  compensated,  in  his  judgment, 
the  want  of  wealth;  nay,  more,  her  virtues  and 
accomplishments  were  the  true  jewels,  whose  posses- 
sion would  make  any  one  rich. 

Nor  did  Ellen  seem  to  dislike  his  attentions. 
There  was  a  true  congeniality  of  spirit  between 
them.  Aunt  Gray  saw  that  they  loved  each  other, 
and  she  was  secretly  happy  in  view  of  their  mutual 
attachment.  They  were  worthy  of  each  other  she 
said  to  herself.  And  she  often  made  an  excuse  to  be 
engaged  when  he  called,  and  thus  they  were  left 
much  in  each  other's  society. 


MARRYING    RICH.  201 

Affairs  at  length  came  to  a  crisis.  Charles  must 
soon  return  to  his  home.  He  confidently  expected 
to  bear  with  him  the  highest  honors  his  alma  mater 
could  confer  on- the  young  graduate.  But  he  longed 
far  more  earnestly  to  carry  with  him  the  pledge  of 
her  whose  worshiper  he  had  become.  Would  she 
consent  to  be  his  ?  Ah !  this  question,  which  seemed 
to  imply  a  doubt,  threw  him  into  a  tumult  of  con- 
flicting emotions?  He  resolved  to  know  the  worst 
at  once.  Had  he  flattered  himself  that  she  loved 
him  when  she  did  not?  Full  of  these  thoughts,  yet 
resolute  to  declare  his  love,  he  walked  rapidly  down 
to  Mrs.  Gray's,  and  was  soon  in  the  presence  of 
Ellen. 

"  Ellen,"  said  he,  when  they  were  alone,  "  I  called 
on  business." 

"With  my  aunt?  Excuse  me  a  moment,  I  will 
call  her." 

"  No,  with  you." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes,  with  you.  There  is  a  place  vacant  which 
you  are  desired  to  consent  to  fill." 

"Do  you  think  me  qualified  to  fill  it  prop- 
erly 1" 

"  Better  than  any  other  living  person." 

"  Now  you  flatter  me.  But  would  you  advise  me 
to  accept  the  place  ?" 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  would  advise  you,  but,  dear- 


202  MARRYING    RICH. 

est  friend,  I  wiU  entreat  you.  Pardon  me,  but  I 
came  to  tell  you  how  dear  you  are  to  me,  how  my 
love  for  you  consumes  me  until  I  know  whether  I 
may  hope  that  it  is  returned  or  not.  The  vacant 
place  is  by  my  side.  I  feel  that  you  only  can  fill  it. 
Will  you  consent  to  share  with  me  the  fortunes  of 
life  ?"  Almost  unconsciously  he  had  taken  her  hand 
in  his,  and  she  had  not  withdrawn  it.  She  heard 
him  without  any  apparent  displeasure.  A  tear 
moistened  her  eye. 

"  Have  you  weighed  this  matter  ?"  she  replied. 

"  Yes,  again  and  again ;  I  can  only  be  wretched  if 
you  deny  me.  Let  me  tell  you  the  truth ;  I  began 
by  admiring  your  fine  talents.  I  soon  admired,  still 
more,  your  deep  piety.  I  sought  your  acquaintance. 
I  soon  found  myself  seeking  your  socie'ty  often.  Has 
not  our  intercourse,  as  friends,  been  sweet?  We 
have  seemed  to  be  formed  after  the  same  intellectual 
mold.  Tour  thoughts  have  answered  to  mine,  mine 
have  reflected  yours.  We  have  worshiped  at  the 
same  altar.  We  have  read  the  same  books.  We 
have  admired  the  same  objects.  In  all  things  our 
aims,  aspirations,  sympathies,  and  opinions,  have 
seemed  to  coincide.  How  could  it  be  otherwise 
than  that  I  should  love  you  ?" 

"But  have  you  considered  our  stations  in  life? 
Have  you  thought  how  it  would  be  regarded  by  the 
world,  if  you,  who  are  just  ready  to  receive  the 


MARRYING    RICH.  203 

honors  of  college — if  you,  whose  future  is  fall  of 
bright  promise,  were  to  marry  a  poor  girl,  a  seam- 


"  What  do  I  care  for  the  world's  thought  ?  It  will 
affect  me  as  little  as  the  slightest  breath  of  air.  I 
despise  the  factitious  distinctions  of  the  world.  I 
know  you  to  be  good,  and  intelligent,  and  accom- 
plished. Your  tastes,  and  sentiments,  and  views  of 
life,  are  in  unison  .with  mine.  What  right,  then,  has 
the  world  heartlessly  to  interpose  its  selfish  laws  be- 
tween us?  I  know  that  the  world  is  wrong  in  this, 
and  I  will  never  be  bound  by  its  absurd  rules.  I 
love  you  with  my  whole  being.  I  cannot  elevate 
you  in  the  social  scale.  You  are  already  worthy  of 
the  highest  place.  Besides  this,  I  am  not  ambitious 
to  walk  in  what  the  world  calls  its  highest  circles. 
There  life  is  all  artificial.  The  prisoner  in  the  stocks 
is  not  more  absolutely  bound  than  are  the  members 
of  those  circles.  They  who,  to  gratify  their  vanity, 
seek  admission  there,  have  to  pay  the  full  penalty  of 
pains  and  distress  for  their  ambition.  And  it  is  a 
terrible  price.  My  intention  is  to  lead  a  quiet  rural 
life.  Only  to  serve  my  country  or  my  God,  would  I 
consent  to  forego  the  pleasure  of  my  quiet  home. 
No,  dearest  Ellen,  I  care  nothing  for  the  world's 
thoughts.  And  if  I  did,  I  know  that  the  world,  the 
versatile  world,  would  soon  applaud  my  choice  of 
such  a  one  as  you." 


204  MARRYING    RICH. 

"Do  you,  then,  think  it  possible  to  love  unself- 
ishly?" 

"  Ah !  I  may  be  only  too  selfish  in  my  love.  I  as- 
sure you  I  should  feel  that  I  have  secured  a  treasure 
of  wealth  in  you.  "Were  you  the  possessor  of  lands 
and  gold,  I  might  have  reason  to  hesitate  lest  my 
affection  was  biased  by  a  base  motive.  Heaven 
knows  I  should  never  cease  to  despise  myself  for 
such  an  act.  Nor  could  I  despise  myself  less,  if 
knowing  that  you  had  not  property,  I  should  cast 
away  your  real  riches  of  mind  for  a  similar  reason. 
No, "you  are  rich  in  all  that  is  permanent;  in  the 
purity  and  nobility  of  the  mind.  That  is  the  only 
patent  of  nobility  I  recognize.  But  why  should 
I  urge  these  views  ?  The  only  question  is  a  question 
of  the  heart.  Can  you  love  me,  and  will  you  be 
mine?" 

"I  will  not  evade  your  question.  My  heart  is 
yours,  Charles.  Only  I  would  not  have  you  commit 
yourself  without  considering  the  social  position  I  oc- 
cupy. I  would  not  be  to  you  an  occasion  of  future 
regret." 

"  Noblest,  best  of  women  !  My  heart  shall  ever 
bless  you  for  the  happiness  you  have  occasioned 
me." 


MARRYING    RICH,  205 


CHAPTER  Y. 

NOT  long  after  the  events  narrated  in  the  last 
chapter,  the  conversation  between  Charles  and  his 
mother  took  place.  The  reader  will  have  seen  in 
what  sense  Charles  understood  himself  when  he 
informed  his  mother  that  he  was  engaged,  and 
that  he  should  marry  rich.  He  was  fully  persuad- 
ed that  his  mother,  (who  was  an  excellent  woman, 
despite  the  weakness  before  alluded  to,)  when  she 
came  to  know  the  exalted  virtues  of  his  adored 
Ellen,  would  not  only  approve,  but  applaud  his 
choice.  He  did  not  intend  wickedly  to  dissemble, 
yet  he  could  not  altogether  justify  himself.  Why 
not  tell  her  the  girl  was  poor  in  this  world's  goods, 
but  rich  in  virtue,  intelligence,  refinement,  and  all 
female  accomplishments?  Sometimes  he  almost 
resolved  to  do  it;  to  acknowledge  his  error,  and 
pray  that  his  choice  might  be  approved.  Then, 
again,  he  resolved  to  let  time  tell  the  story,  and 
trust  to  the  influence  of  acquaintance  with  his 
chosen  bride  to  remove  all  objections  on  the  ground 
of  poverty.  It  would  be  but  a  little  time,  for  it  was 
arranged  that  their  nuptials  should  be  celebrated 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  season. 


206  MARRYING    RICH. 

Thus  the  time  hastened  on,  and  the  day  arrived 
when  he  was  to  go  and  claim  his  bride  at  the 
hands  of  her  parents.  Already  they  had  sanctioned 
her  espousal.  They  knew,  they  said,  the  reputa- 
tion of  the  young  gentleman  who  had  done  them 
the  honor  of  seeking  their  daughter's  hand.  They 
had  heard  of  his  disinterested  affection;  of  the  mag- 
nanimity with  which  he  had  sacrificed  the  chances 
of,  apparently,  far  more  advantageous  alliances,  for 
the  sake  of  her  own  personal  worth,  which,  they 
truly  believed,  he  had  not  overestimated.  They 
were  ready  to  receive  him  as  a  son,  and  hoped  for 
much  happiness  to  result  from  the  relation.  They 
hoped  that  he  would  not  fail  to  be  accompanied  by 
his  parents  at  the  marriage.  This  was  now  agreed 
upon,  and  Mrs.  Barnwell's  heart  was  in  a  constant 
tumult  of  excitement,  speculating  upon  what  kind 
of  people  the  Grays  could  be.  What  style  did  they 
live  in?  How  should  she  appear  in  the  society  of 
such  grand  people  as  they  must  be,  if  they  were  so 
rich?  She  almost  regretted  that  her  son  would  get 
a  rich  wife,  now,  for  she  began  to  fear  that  it  might 
be  the  occasion  of  some  separation  between  the 
parents  and  the  children.  How  could  she  expect  a 
wealthy  young  lady,  a  person  of  aristocratic  con- 
nections, to  be  willing  to  descend  to  the  circle  in 
which  she  had  hitherto  moved?  And  how  could 
she  hope  ever  to  feel  at  ease  in  those  higher  walks 


MARRYING    RICH.  207 

which  would  befit  her  rich  daughter-in-law?  Poor 
woman,  she  just  began  to  feel  that  she  had  miscal- 
culated the  advantages  of  her  son's  marrying  rich. 
She  feared  that  she  had  put  thorns  in  her  own  heart 
by  so  often  exhorting  him  to  look  for  a  rich  wife. 

Charles  did  not  fail  to  perceive  the  trouble  she 
was  in,  and  it  gave  him  secret  pleasure.  It  would 
render  the  denouement  less  terrible  than  he  had 
feared.  In  fact,  he  believed  that  when  the  truth 
was  known,  and  it  was  found  that  she  was  not  rich, 
it  would  be  an  absolute  relief  to  his  mother's  feelings. 

As  to  his  father,  he  had  no  misgivings  on  his 
account.  He  cared  but  little  for  wealth.  A  com- 
petence was  desirable;  more  than  this  was  a  vexa- 
tion. *  He  hoped  the  young  lady  had  good  sense 
and  a  good  heart,  and  he  thought  Charles  would 
not  have  fancied  her  if  she  had  not. 

But  Charles  was  determined  that  his  mother's 
concern  should  be  enhanced  to  that  point  that  the 
truth,  when  known,  would  be  a  positive  relief.  So 
he  took  occasion  often,  when  they  were  alone 
together,  to  expatiate  upon  the  queenly  dignity, 
the  polished  grace,  and  the  lofty  intelligence  of  his 
affianced  bride.  The  scheme  worked  well ;  and,  by 
the  time  that  they  were  ready  to  commence  their 
journey,  Mrs.  Barnwell  was  so  agitated  with  doubts, 
and  fears,  and  misgivings,  that  she  heartily  wished 
she  had  been  less  anxious  to  contract  great  alliances. 


. 
208  MARRYING    RICH. 

The  preparations  were  at  length  completed.  A 

ride  of  a  day  brought  them  to  the  village  of  C , 

where  the  Grays  resided.  They  had  lived  here  only  a 
short  time,  and  were  little  known  in  the  village.  A 
man  who  was  inquired  of,  pointed  out  a  small  house 
in  the  edge  of  the  village,  as  their  residence. 

""What!   that  little  white  house  without  blinds?" 

"Yes." 

As  they  moved  on,  Mrs.  Barnwell  said : 

"That  don't  look  like  the  dwelling  of  a  man  of 
immense  wealth,  does  it,  Charles  ?" 

"No,  I  should  think  not.  Perhaps  Mr.  Gray  is 
not  wealthy." 

"  But  did  you  not  say  he  was  ?" 

"No,  mother;  I  never  said  anything  about  his 
circumstances ;  though  I  should  think  any  man  rich 
who  had  such  a  daughter  as  Ellen  Gray." 

"Then  she  is  not  rich,  after  all.  Well,  I  don't 
know  but  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  do  say  the  thought  of 
the  wealth  and  the  aristocratic  position  of  this  family 
has  almost  destroyed  my  health  lately." 

"Ah,  mother,  I  still  think  her  the  richest  girl  I 
ever  saw,"  said  Charles,  who  was  willing  his  mother 
should  now  understand  him  fully. 

"About  as  I  expected,"  said  Mr.  Barnwell.  "I 
am  well  satisfied  with  your  ability  to  choose  for 
yourself,  Charles.  Money  is  as  often  a  curse  as  a 
blessing  to  the  rich." 


MARRYING    RICH.  209 

Mr.  Gray  received  the  Barnwells  with  easy  af- 
fability, and  conducted  them  into  the  parlor.  They 
soon  felt  perfectly  at  home  in  the  family.  Aunt 
Gray  was  there,  and  Charles  felt  a  singular  happiness 
in  the  company  of  the  worthy  family.  Never  did 
Ellen  seem  to  him  more  lovely.  Never  did  he 
esteem  himself  so  blessed  as  now. 

The  marriage  was  consummated  in  the  evening, 
and  it  was  arranged  that  the  parties  should  start  on  a 
brief  tour  the  next  morning.  It  was  a  happy  occa- 
sion. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barnwell  unreservedly  applauded 
the  good  judgment  of  their  son.  How  could  he  help 
loving  so  much  beauty,  and  such  perfection?  they 
asked  each  other.  They  were  fascinated  by  her 
artless  simplicity,  her  unaffected  dignity  and  un- 
equaled  grace.  And  when  they  saw  her  devotion 
to  religious  principle,  they  rejoiced  that  she  had 
become  their  daughter. 

We  must  hasten  to  the  conclusion  of  our  narrative. 
The  next  morning  Charles  and  his  wife  were  about 
taking  their  departure,  when  Mr.  Gray  said : 

."You  will  find  us  in  the  city  on  your  return." 
There  was  a  meaning  smile  on  his  lips  as  he  said  this. 
"  But,"  said  Charles,  "  do  you  break  up  here  ?" 

"  Yes.  We  only  came  here  to  enjoy  the  country  air 
a  few  weeks,  and  we  shall  now  return ;  for  you,  sir,  have 
fairly  broken  us  up  by  taking  our  darling  away  from 
us.  We  shall  hardly  enjoy  ourselves  here  any  longer." 


210  MARRYING    RICH. 

"But what  does  this  all  mean?"  said  Charles,  aside, 
to  his  wife. 

• 

She  had  not  time  to  answer  before  her  father 
proceeded : 

"You,  sir,  have,  as  I  said,  broken  us  up.  You 
have  allured  our  only  daughter  away  from  our 
society.  You  have  got  the  poor  sewing-girl  at  last ; 
ha !  ha  1  Good,  sir,  good.  You'll  find  she  is  a 
witch,  sir.  She  is  a  good-for-nothing  witch.  Only 
think ;  here  she  has  left  us  to  die  of  loneliness,  for 
nearly  a  year,  only  just  to  catch  some  simpleton  of 
a  fellow  and  make  a  husband  of  him.  And  she  has 
done  it;  ha!  ha!  But,  sir,  you  have  undertaken  a 
great  task,  the  support  of  that  girl.  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  help  you  a  little  by  and*by." 

"  O,  father,  how  can  you  ?" 

"How  can  I?  "Well,  now,  perhaps  I  shall  find 
some  way  to — " 

"  No,  no ;  I  mean  how  can  you  talk  so  ?" 

"O  yes;  why,  you  little  deserter  of  father  and 
mother,  and  home,  what  right  have  you  to  question 
me?  Here,  sir,  I  demand  that  you  take  her  away, 
and  don't  let  her  interrupt  me  again.  It's  a  great 
tax,  sir,  a  great  tax,  to  assume  the  support  of  that 
girl.  I  pity  you,  sir;  I  do.  So  see  here,  just  do  me 
the  kindness  to  take  this  bit  of  paper  to  my  banker, 

in  R ,  and  it  will  be  a  great  relief  to  my  feelings, 

Ha!  ha!" 


MARRYING    RICH.  211 

Charles  Barnwell's  face  was  crimson.  He  could 
not  be  displeased,  but  he  was  stupefied.  Seeing  his 
confusion,  Ellen  snatched  the  paper  from  her  father. 

"Take  it,  my  son,"  said  Mr.  Gray,  more  soberly; 
"it  is  the  first  installment  of  the  sewing-girl's  por- 
tion." 

Charles  took  it.  It  was  a  check  for  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars,  payable  to  Charles  Barnwell,  or  bearer, 
signed  by  her  father. 

"  My  dear  Ellen,  will  you  explain  this  to  us  all  ?" 
said  Charles,  nearly  overcome  by  his  emotions. 

"Forgive  me,  my  dear,  for  playing  an  innocent 
trick.  I  have  dissembled,  but  not  wickedly  I  trust. 
More  than  a  year  ago  my  parents  urged  me  to 
make  a  selection  from  among  several  suitors,  and 
marry.  I  was  not  able  to  do  it.  I  was  surrounded 
with  all  the  advantages  ,of  wealth,  and  those  who 
sought  my  hand  knew  it.  Through  the  vehement 
protestations  of  undying  love  made  by  them,  I 
thought  I  could  see  a  cold,  selfish  calculation  upon 
the  dowry  I  should  bring  them.  At  least  I  could 
love  none  of  them.  There  were  young  gentlemen, 
in  humble  life,  whose  true  hearts  I  could  have 
trusted, .  but  between  me  and  them,  society  had 
erected  the  barriers  of  heartless  caste.  I  saw  those 
'young  gentlemen  who  were  ready  to  die  for  me 
passing  by  a  young  lady,  a  friend  of  mine,  a  child 

of  misfortune,  once  an  expectant  heiress,  and  then 

14 


212  MARRYING    RICH. 

sought  after  by  them;  now  impoverished,  obtaining 
her  living  with  her  needle,  and  passed  by  without 
BO  much  as  a  friendly  recognition  by  those  devoted 
gallants.  Alas!  I  said,  I  am  most  unfortunate.  I 
can  never  know  when  a  true  heart  is  offered  me.  I 
would  rather  live  in  loneliness  and  die  unmated  than 
aid  to  perpetuate  those  social  evils  which  are  the 
destruction  of  all  my  joys.  I  then  proposed  to  my 
dear  parents  to  allow  me  to  withdraw  from  society 
for  a  year,  to  go  into  some  distant  retreat,  and  find  a 
heart  to  love  me  for  my  own  sake.  I  found  you  all 
I  had  yearned  after  in  secret.  My  beloved  parents 
were  advised  constantly  of  my  affairs,  and  as  they 
had  allowed  my  caprice,  as  they  called  it,  so  they 
approved  of  my  attachment,  wh'en  I  informed  them 
of  it.  And  now  may  I  not  add,  I  am  grateful  to 
that  Providence  whose  guidance  introduced  us  to 
each  other.  That  by  the  blessing  of  that  same  be- 
nignant Providence  my  father  is  the  steward  of 
large  mercies,  is  accounted  by  the  world  rich;  and 
that,  as  his  only  child,  I  am  also  prospectively 
wealthy,  need  not  diminish  the  happiness  we  have 
had  in  each  other's  pure  and  unselfish  love.  To  you, 
who  have  shown  yourself  magnanimous  and  noble  in 
the  past,  God  has  given  the  means  to  be  more  useful 
in  the  future.  Happier  in  each  other  we  cannot  be 
made  by  money ;  but  to  the  world  we  may  be  ena- 
bled to  do  more  good." 


MARRYING    RICH.  218 

"  Rich  or  poor,  you  are  all  the  same  to  me,"  said 
Charles.  Tears  of  gratitude  and  joy  were  in  every 
eye. 

Years  afterward,  when  Charles  Barnwell  had  be- 
come the  owner  of  immense  estates,  whenever  his 
name  was  spoken  and  that  of  his  worthy  wife,  it  was 
with  the  heartfelt  blessings  of  the  poor ;  for  as  faith- 
ful stewards,  they  ever  dispensed  the  bounties  of 
Providence  without  stint.  And  still  they  live,  hon- 
oring the  Christian  name,  and  bringing  happiness  to 
thousands  of  hearts. 


THE 


SEA-CAPTAIFS  DAUGHTERS. 


THE   SEA  CAPTAIN'S  DAUGHTERS. 


MARIA  and  Annie  were  favorite  children  of  the 
wealthy  and  worldly  Captain  F.  They  had  been 
introduced  to  the  gayest  circles  of  the  city  in  which 
they  resided  ;  their  father  having  long  since  retired 
from  a  life  on  the  waves  to  a  home  of  elegance  in 
B.  Ko  fashionable  resorts  or  amusements  were 
unfamiliar  to  his  daughters,  whose  beauty  and  ap- 
pearance fully  gratified  his  pride.  But  the_  holy 
sanctuary  was  seldom  frequented,  and  by  himself 
was  wholly  neglected.  The  gay  assembly  envied 
his  position,  while  the  heirs  to  an  eternal  inheritance 
mournfully  pitied  and  earnestly  prayed. 

Late  one  Saturday  night  in  February,  Annie,  the 
younger  daughter,  returned  home  from  the  theater, 
where  she  had  witnessed  an  unusually  exciting  per- 
formance. A  death-scene  had  been  the  closing  act, 
and  so  perfectly  was  it  represented,  that  for  a 
moment,  silence  reigned  throughout  the  spacious 
and  crowded  hall ;  but  it  was  suddenly  broken  by 


218      THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS. 

the  exclamation  beside  her,  more  thoughtless  than 
herself,  "Didn't  he  die  splendidly?"  Those  words 
lingered  in  her  memory  as  the  carriage  wheels  rat- 
tled hastily  over  the  pavement,  and  the  same  pre- 
vented her  eyes  from  slumber,  .as  she  vainly  sought 
her  pillow,  restless  and  prayerless. 

It  could  not  be  that  the  recollection  of  that 
mock-scene,  or  the  careless  remark  that  followed, 
so  disturbed  her,  she  thought,  as  daylight  dawned 
upon  her  unclosed  eyelids.  Little  dreamed  she  it  was 
the  awaking  of  a  conscience  which  a  want  of  relig- 
ious education  had  caused  to  lie  dormant  nearly 
twenty  years.  She  had  little  thought  that  the  very 
amusement  which  never  before  failed  to  silence  that 
inward  monitor,  would  prove  the  instrument  through 
which  the  Spirit's  "still,  small  voice"  might  speak; 
that  where  she  expected  pleasure,  she  would  mys- 
teriously find  pain.  But  God,  who  can  make  "  the 
wrath  of  man  to  praise  him,"  can  likewise  bring 
good  results  from  evil. 

With  a  heavy  heart  she  rose  on  Sabbath  morning, 
complained  of  an  aching  head,  and  asked  permission 
to  walk  alone  to  the  park  during  the  forenoon. 
The  church  bells,  which  she  seldom  heeded,  seemed 
to  summon  worshipers  to  the  house  of  God,  and 
almost  unconsciously  she  found  herself  nearing  one 
of  those  earthly  temples,  toward  which  crowds  were 
hastening.  "I  never  was  in  this  church,"  said  she 


THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTEBS.      219l 

to  herself,  and  prompted  by  a  feeling  of  curiosity, 
as  she  believed,  she  entered,  and  was  immediately 
conducted  to  a  seat.  The  stated  shepherd  of  this 
flock  was  absent,  and  in  his  place  sat  the  devont 
Dr.  B.,  of  another  city.  His  very  countenance 
was  expressive  of  Christian  love,  and  the  fruits  of 
the  Spirit  were  ever  manifested  in  his  life  and 
words.  The  organ  peals,  so  unlike  the  lively  strains 
of  music  to  which  her  ears  were  accustomed,  sent 
a  solemn  thrill  through  her  soul,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  she  bowed  her  head  with  the 
worshiping  congregation,  while  the  clergyman  lifted 
up  his  voice  in  prayer. 

Unknown  to  her,  gat,  very  near,  a  playmate  of 
her  childhood,  now  a  devoted  disciple  of  Jesus. 
With  grief,  Miss  B.  had  noticed  the  irreligious 
influences  by  which  Annie  was  surrounded.  Often 
she  had  pleaded  for  her  at  the  mercy- seat,  and 
more  than  once  sought  an  opportunity  to  speak  upon 
the  subject  so  dear  to  her  own  heart;  Irat  the 
attempt  seemed  to  be  in  vain.  Yet  still  she  prayed 
for  her.  Now  she  beheld  her  whom  she  loved, 
seated  near,  in  church,  and  noticed  her  devotional 
attitude.  And  more  fervently  than  ever,  she  be- 
soiight  the  God  of  the  sanctuary  that  the  Holy 
Spirit  might  accompany  the  word  spoken,  to  her 
friend's  heart,  and  make  it  effectual  to  her  conver- 
sion. She  closely  watched  her  changing  expression 


220       THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS. 

of  countenance,  as  the  eternal  death  of  the  sinner 
was  discoursed  upon,  and  the  entreaty  urged  to 
come  to  the  fountain  of  living  waters,  and  be 
cleansed  from  all  guilt ;  the  text  being,  "  Turn  ye, 
turn  ye,  for  why  will  ye  die,  O  house  of  Israel?" 
A  tear  was  visible  upon  Annie's  cheek.  Her  heart 
was  softened.  Tenderly,  affectionately,  and  earnestly 
the  good  servant  of  God  appealed  to  the  hearts  of 
the  impenitent,  to  forsake  sin,  and  accept  offered 
mercy ;  and  more  fervently  prayed  Miss  R.  for 
her. 

The  morning  service  being  closed,  she  hastened 
to  her  friend.  Clasping  Annie's  hand  within  both 
her  own,  she  only  said,  "Let -nothing  prevent  you 
from  coming  again  this  afternoon,"  and  with  a 
meaning  glance  and  a  full  heart,  left  her  to  plead 
for  her  in  her  own  closet,  where  none  but  God 
was  near. 

Annie  returned  home  with  feelings  unknown  to 
herself  before.  She  knew  and  felt  herself  to  be  a 
great  sinner,  justly  condemned  to  eternal  death, 
and  wondered  why  she  had  been  so  long  in 
ignorance  of  the  alarming  truth.  Repeatedly  and 
hurriedly  she  paced  her  room,  absorbed  with  her 
own  painful  reflections,  refusing  to  eat.  Her  friends, 
supposing  her  ill,  insisted  upon  sending  for  medical 
advice ;  but  she  objected,  and  expressed  a  determ- 
ination to  attend  church  in  the  afternoon.  Little 


THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS.      221 

thought  they  that  Jesus,  the  great  physician  of  the 
soul,  was  only  needed,  and  that  they,,  too,  were 
equally  diseased,  and  in  greater  danger,  because 
unaware  of  their  periJL  Though  surprised  at  her 
wish,  they  reluctantly  consented. 

Accordingly  she  obeyed  the  summons  of  the  bell, 
now  seeing  as  in  a  mirror  her  guilt  and  wretched- 
ness, and  desiring  a  clean  heart  and  right  spirit,, 
without  which  she  was  convinced  she  must  be  for- 
ever unhappy.  In  the  porch  she  found  awaiting 
her  Miss  R.,  who,  apparently  with  a  heart  too  full  to 
speak,  led  her  to  her  own  slip  and  sat  beside  her. 

Prayer  was  offered,  but  though  she  bowed  low 
her  head,  her  soul  knew  not  how  to  engage  in  it. 
Every  word  added  new  weight  to  her  burden. 
When  the  clergyman  read  the  passage  selected  as 
the  theme  of  his  discourse,  "  I,  evefti  I,  am  He  that 
blotteth  out  thy  transgressions  for  mine  own  sake,  and 
will  not  remember  thy  sins,"  and  dwelt  long  upon 
the  love  and  compassion  of  our  Lord,  and  at  length 
ended  with  his  invitation  and  promises,  "  Come  unto 
me,  all  ye  that  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest ;"  "  Whosoever  will,  let  him  take  the  water  of 
life  freely  ;"  her  thoughts  had  found  a  new  channel. 
God  was  merciful  as  well  as  just ! 

Miss  R.  accompanied  her  nearly  home,  expressed 
her  joy  at  meeting  her  in  God's  house,  and  bade  her 
"pray  without  ceasing"  until  she  could  feel  that 


222       THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS. 

Jesus  had  become  her  own  Saviour.  "  The  way  has 
been  clearly  pointed  out,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
search  your  Bible,  follow  its  directions,  and  pray : 
do  this,  and  you  will  feel  the  blessedness  of  sins  for- 
given," said  her  companion  as  she  left  her  side,  with 
an  earnest  pressure  of  the  hand. 

"  Pray !"  thought  Annie,  as  she  locked  the  door  of 
her  room  ;  "  I  know  not  how  to  pray ;  and  where  is 
my  Bible?  I  used  to  have  one  when  a  child."  The 
Bible  was  found,  and  tearfully  she  perused  its  sacred 
pages;  it  was  like  a  new  book  to  her,  and  upon 
nearly  every  leaf  she  found  the  command  to  pray, 
with  promises  attached  or  an  example  on  record. 
Jesus  prayed,  the  disciples  prayed ;  all  who  desired 
asked  before  they  received ;  and  the  publican  smote 
his  breast  with  a  sense  of  his  guilt,  and  cried,  "  God 
be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner !"  "  I  can  say  that,  if 
nothing  more,"  she  exclaimed ;  and  falling  upon  her 
knees,  she  repeated  it  again  and  again  with  sincerity 
of  heart,  while  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes.  The 
prayer  of  the  penitent  was  heard,  and  we  believe  that 
hour  the  glad  tidings  resounded  throughout  the  new 
Jerusalem,  while  all  the  angelic  host  united  in  a  new 
anthem  of  praise  and  rejoicing,  for  another  soul  had 
been  new-born. 

Did  Annie  rise  from  her  knees  filled  with  raptu- 
rous joy  ?  O  no  I  She  felt  little  of  forgiveness  and 
acceptance,  but  she  had  consecrated  her  heart,  her 


THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS.      228 

all,  to  Jesus,  and  resolved  to  live  and  labor  for  his 
cause,  with  a  firm  belief  in  his  promises  that  he 
would  never  leave  nor  forsake  her. 

And  what  was  the  result  of  this  consecration? 
A  calm,  peaceful  trust,  submission  to  God's  will  un- 
known to  all,  save  those  who,  like  her,  have  felt  their 
need  of  a  Saviour,  and  determined  with  full  purpose 
of  heart  to  devote  their  lives  and  talents  to  his  service, 
depending  alone  upon  his  merits  for  salvation ! 

As  this  was  but  the  beginning  of  true  joy  and 
love  to  Annie,  so  it  was  the  dawn  of  a  new  life  of 
trial.  It  was  no  easy  matter  for  her  to  relinquish 
the  society  of  her  gay  associates,  leave  those  circles 
in  which  she  had  shone  a  star,  and  been  universally 
caressed  and  flattered  5  and  she  saw  only  two  open 
paths  before  her,  the  broad  and  the  narrow  way,  and 
the  latter  she  unhesitatingly  chose. 

Blessed  with  an  unusual  decision  of  character  and 
knowing  the  impossibility  of  serving  both  God  and 
mammon,  she  sought  a  knowledge  of,  and  prayed 
for  strength  to  perform  every  duty,  resist  temptation, 
and  conquer  besetting  sins. 

The  first  cross  which  duty  compelled  her  to  take 
up,  was  that  of  acquainting  her  own  family  friends 
with  her  change  of  feelings.  Painful  indeed  was 
the  task,  but  prayer  enabled  her  to  perform  it.  O, 
the  sneers,  rebukes,  and  cruel  jestings  that  followed! 
Dearly  as  those  parents  loved  their  daughter,  their 


224       THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS. 

indignation  knew  no  bounds,  and  was  wholly  uncon- 
trolled, while  she  tearfully  confessed  that  she  had 
tried  to  give  her  heart  to  Christ,  and  should  endeavor 
to  live  for  him.  Bitter  reproaches  were  their  only 
replies,  but  this  act  strengthened  her,  and  new  joy 
took  the  place  of  doubt,  as  she  returned  to  her  room 
to  unburden  her  soul  to  the  ear^  of  Him  whose  love 
was  becoming  daily  more  precious. 

And  now  a  partition  wall  had  arisen  between 
herself  and  sister  Maria.  Their  sympathies,  aims, 
and  purposes  being  no  longer  one,  a  grievous 
estrangement  existed,  instead  of  that  tie  which 
should  unite  the  members  of  one  family.  She  loved 
her  sister  still,  and  could  not  refrain  from  expressing 
the  hope  occasionally,  that  her  mind  would  likewise 
be  drawn  from  worldly  pleasure  to  something  more 
satisfactory  and  abiding ;  but  every  word  appeared  to 
widen  the  breach,  and  she  felt  that  a  proper  Chris- 
tian example  and  prayer  could  alone  avail.  Months 
rolled  on;  her  friends'  opposition  not  decreasing, 
her  own  faith  strengthening,  her  hope  brightening, 
her  love  for  the  sanctuary  and  religious  ordinances 
becoming  stronger,  and,  above  all,  the  Bible  growing 
more  precious  every  day.  Every  repeated  trial 
taught  her  to  rely  upon  the  "  strong  arm,"  which  was 
able  and  ready  to  support  her,  and  the  loss  of  friends 
only  served  to  bring  her  into  nearer  relations  with 
her  Saviour,  who  was  her  dearest  friend. 


THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS.     225 

*•. 

In  Miss  R.  she  found  true  Christian  sympathy 
and  warmth  of  affection  ;  and  to  her  she  opened  fully 
and  freely  her  heart.  Often  side  by  side  they  knelt 
and  prayed  for  spiritual  blessings  upon  her  friends; 
but  as  yet  no  evidence  of  answered  prayer  was 
manifested.  The  summer  following  the  time  of  her 
conversion,  she,  with  the  partial  consent  of  her 
parents,  united  herself  with  Christ's  earthly  Church, 
and  with  the  professed  disciples  of  the  Lord  partook 
of  the  body  and  blood  offered  a  sacrifice  for  sin. 
She  was  also  a  member  of  the  Sabbath  school,  a 
faithful  tract  distributer,  and  endeared  herself  greatly 
by  her  consistent  deportment  to  the  Church  where 
she  was  first  awakened  and  enlightened,  and  which 
she  had  now  joined. 

The  second  anniversary  of  the  evening  when 
Annie  last  visited  the  theater,  and  saw  enacted  the 
death  scene,  was  drawing  near.  "  O,"  said  she  to 
me  that  Saturday  morn,  "if  my  dear  parents, 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  especially  Maria,  were 
only  as  happy  as  I  am  now,  I  could  ask  little  more  ; 
but  she  is  going  to  a  ball  to-night,  just  as  I  did  to  the 
theater  two  years  ago." 

Evening  came.  Maria  was  gayly  attired  foi  the 
brilliant  occasion,  and  full  of  bright  anticipation. 
Annie  was  in  her  own  room ;  for  since  the  change  in 
her,  her  elder  sister  refused  to  share  the  same 
sleeping  apartment,  deeply  absorbed  in  thought. 


226     THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS. 

* 

Suddenly,  as  from  a  fresh  impulse  of  feeling,  she 
arose  and  stepped  to  her  sister's  side,  and  tenderly 
said,  "Dear  Maria,  I  can't  let  you  go  without 
reminding  you,  that  just  two  years  to-night,  on  the 
eve  of  the  Sabbath,  I,  too,  went—you  know  where — 
and  may  this  be  your  last  time." 

So  affectionate  and  earnest  were  her  words,  that 
her  sister  could  not  reply,  and  Annie  left  her,  saying, 
"I  shall  pray  for  you  all  the  time  you  are  away." 
"I  don't  wish  it!"  she  exclaimed,  but  the  door 
had  separated  them. 

Faithfully  was  the  promise  kept,  for  not  an  hour 
had  elapsed  ere  her  return.  Hearing  her  steps  upon 
the  stairs,  and  fearing  some  misfortune  had  occurred, 
she  rushed  to  the  door  to.  meet  her.  "You  have 
prayed  me  home"  exclaimed  Maria,  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  sister's  bosom.  Annie  was  speechless, 
but  not  tearless.  Her  sister  followed  her  to  her  own 
room,  and  throwing  herself  upon  the  bed,  told  her 
how  her  parting  words  affected  her ;  how  she  had 
striven  to  banish  them  from  her  mind,  but  finding  it 
impossible,  had  induced  her  companion  to  take  her 
home ;  "  for,"  she  added,  "  I  could  not  dance  with 
you  praying  for  me."  Little  did  those  sisters  rest 
that  night,  each  in  her  own  room.  Yaried  were  the 
emotions  of  Annie,  as  her  mind  was  carried  back,  con- 
trasting the  past  with  the  present,  and  wondering  and 
rejoicing  at  the  new  conduct  and  words  of  her  sister. 


THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS.       227 

%  Maria  knew  full  well  the  cause  of  her  distress, 
and  struggled  hard  against  the  Spirit's  influence; 
but  conscience  was  aroused,  and  not  easily  quieted. 

How  gladdened  was  my  heart,  on  entering 
church  next  morning,  to  notice  by  Annie's  side — 
Maria!  And  still  more  so,  to  behold  in  the  pulpit 
the  well-remembered  countenance  and  form  of 
Dr.  B.,  who,  since,  that  eventful  Sabbath  to  my 
friend,  had  not  preached  in  that  church.  Ah!  I 
understood  then  what  meant  those  streaming  eyes, 
and  that  flushed  countenance.  Dear  Annie !  It 
was  almost  too  much,  on  that  anniversary  Sabbath, 
to  have  not  only  her  sister  beside  her,  but  that 
pastor  before  her. 

Again  the  good  doctor  earnestly  entreated  sin- 
ners to  listen  to,  and  accept  the  invitations  of 
Christ,  choosing  for  his  text  Rev.  iii,  20 :  "  Behold,  I 
stand  at  the  door  and  knock,"  etc.  Maria's  tears 
were  not  the  only  ones  called  forth  by  his  touching 
appeals.  No  wonder  Annie's  heart  was  filled  to 
overflowing  with  thankfulness  for  that  day's  mer- 
cies. The  afternoon  service  found  them  again 
there,  seated;  Annie  on  her  sister's  right  hand, 
Miss  R.  on  her  left.  I  felt  that  she  wag,  in- 
deed, borne  on  wings  of  prayer  up  to  the  throne  of 
God. 

"Quench  not  the  Spirit,"  solemnly  read  and  re- 
peated the  venerable  clergyman.  Every  eye  was 

15 


228       THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS. 

riveted  upon  him  during  the  whole  discourse,  and        =* 
seemingly    every  heart   deeply  moved.     Pale   and 
motionless  sat  Maria,  but  it  was  apparent  that  her 
mind  was  active. 

The  following  day  I  sought  an  interview'  with 
Annie,  and  learned  that  her  sister  said  little,  but 
was  evidently  very  anxious.  Again,  the  next 
morning,  no  hope  had  been  expressed.  She 
seemed  in  agony,  wished  to  be  alone,  and  desired 
no  conversation  of  any  kind.  Her  parents  judged 
the  cause,  and  what  might  be  the  result,  and 
harshly  upbraided  Annie  for  her  influence. 

The  week  had  nearly  passed ;  and  still  no  pleas- 
ing news  had  reached  my  ears.  I  knew  her 
friends  feared  insanity,  and  Annie  seemed  alarm- 
ed. Her  minister  was  summoned,  but  his  words 
produced  but  little  effect.  Friday  night,  the  sym- 
pathizing, loving  sister  passed  entirely  in  prayer. 
Through  the  long  hours  of  darkness  she  heard 
Maria's  step  on  her  carpet,  but  no  word,  no  sob. 
Earnestly  as  she  sought  her  own  soul's  salvation, 
pleaded  she  for  that  agonized  sister.  As  daylight 
dawned  she  entered  her  room,  trembling  lest  she 
should  find  her  bewildered.  The  instant  she  saw 
her,  she  exclaimed,  "  O,  Annie,  had  I  not  so  treated 
you,  I  might  long  since  have  hoped ;  but  now — " 

"My  sister,  I  forgave,  and  most  assuredly  a  mer- 
ciful Father  will.  Are  you  ready  to  give  up  all  for 


THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS.     229 

Christ?"  "All!  yes:  I  have  done  it;  I  care  not 
for  the  world's  opinion;  it  has  nearly  destroyed  my 
soul.  If  I  can  only  be  forgiven,  I  will  do  anything, 
be  anything  for  God's  sake."  "Have  you  prayed, 
Maria?"  "No;  I  can't.  He  will  not  hear  rne." 
"  Have  you  opened  that  Bible  ?"  "  No,  it  is  of  no 
use !"  Annie  took  the  sacred  volume,  drew  her 
sister  beside  her,  and  read  aloud  the  fifty-fourth 
Psalm;  then,  with  her  arm  aborit  her,  induced 
her  to  kneel  with  her,  and  audibly  commended 
her  to  the  mercy  and  compassion  of  a  sin-forgiving 
God.  Tears  flowed  profusely,  as  they  had  not 
done  since  the  Sabbath,  and,  when  Annie  arose, 
Maria  still  remained  kneeling.  "Have  mercy  upon 
me,  O  God,  according  to  thy  loving-kindness;  ac- 
cording to  the  multitude  of  thy  tender  mercies  blot 
out  my  transgressions.  Wash  me  thoroughly  from 
mine  iniquity,  and  cleanse  me  from  my  sin;  for  I 
acknowledge  my  transgressions,  and  my  sin  is  ever 
before  me ;"  all  she  could  remember  of  that  beau- 
tiful penitential  Psalm,  she  adopted  as  the  language 
of  her  own  petition ;  and  she,  too,  was  accepted. 

"I  think,  I  believe,  God  hears,"  said  she;  "can 
it  be?  Am  I  owned  a  child,  so  sinful?"  "My 
own,  precious  sister!"  cried  Annie,  and  the  tears 
they  mingled  were  of  joy.  We  believe  saints 
above,  as  well  as  saints  below,  rejoiced  over  thjis 
new  birth. 


280       THE    SEA    CAPTAIN'S    DAUGHTERS. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  parents  continued 
to  manifest  their  displeasure,  though  they  no  longer 
openly  opposed.  The  sisters  were  wholly  united 
in  heart,  and  the  following  night,  when  they  together 
retired,  Maria  requested,  "Wake  me  early  in  the 
morning,  for  I  have  no  time  to  lose." 

On  the  second  anniversary  of  the  time  when 
Annie  publicly  professed  her  faith,  and  determina- 
tion to  lead  the  Christian  life,  Maria  presented 
herself  for  admission  to  the  Church.  Her  expres- 
sion was  that  of  subdued  pride ;  and,  as  I  saw  the 
tear-drops  fast  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  I  felt  as 
never  before  the  power  of  religion  in  changing  the 
human  heart. 

Where  now  were  those  hardened  parents,  and 
others,  sisters  and  brothers  ?  Not  there,  and  not  yet 
numbered,  we  fear,  among  God's  redeemed  people ; 
but  we  hope  that  in  answer  to  the  united  prayers 
of  those  faithful  Christian  sisters,  every  member  of 
that  household  will  become  a  member  of  the  family 
of  Christ. 


INCIDENTS  IN  ITINERANCY. 


INCIDENTS  IN  ITINERANCY. 


CHAPTEK  I. 

THE  sun  had  gone  down ;  the  evening  was  cloudy, 
a»id  the  narrow  road  lying  through  a  dense  forest  of 
pines,  night  dropped  upon  me  of  a  sudden,  and  dark- 
ness seemed  almost  tangible.  It  was  winter,  how- 
ever, and  here  and  there  a  few  patches  of  snow 
looked  like  fragments  of  dimmed  daylight  which  the 
power  of  night  had  not  been  enabled  wholly  to  ex- 
tinguish. The  December  wind  of  a  southern  winter 
had  blown  through  the  day  in  chill  and  fitful  gusts, 
accompanied  by  hail  and  snow,  alternately  succeed- 
ing each  other.  It  had  lulled  with  nightfall,  and 
the  darkness  and  silence  of  the  wilderness  were  august 
and  awful.  The  click  of  my  horses  hoof  against  a 
stone,  the  distant  hooting  of  the  night-tfwl,  or  the 
moaning  of  the  soothed,  but  sleepless  winds,  through 
the  evergreen  foliage,  only  seemed  to  add  terror  and 
loneliness  to  the  profoundness  of  solitude.  The  snow, 


284  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

dampened  by  the  rain  and  sheltered  from  the  wind, 
would  here  and  there*  mantle  some  shrub  or  gapling, 
which.,  by  a  little  assistance  of  fear-distorted  fancy, 
looked  like  the  shrouded  dead  starting  from  the 
tombs;  and  the  sighing  of  the  night-winds,  which 
rose  and  fell  through  the  tops  of  the  stately  pines, 
made  one  feel  as  if  he  was  trespassing  upon  the 
haunts  of  spirits. 

The  distance  from  one  appointment  to  another  on 
this  mission  circuit,  in  this  early  day,  was  from  forty 
to  sixty  miles.  I  generally  passed  from  one  "  settle- 
ment" to  another,  seldom  meeting  with  any  inter- 
mediate inhabitants ;  the  road  was  seldom  more  than 
a  "  bridle  path"  or  an  "  old  Indian  trail."  The  trees 
among  which  it  would  wind,  were  often  "  blazed,"  to 
guide  the  unwary  traveler.  On  this  occasion,  I  had 
been  induced  to  take  a  new  and  strange  route ;  had 
lost  my  way  through  the  day,  and  became  benight- 
ed. It  was  no  less  new  and  strange  to  my  horse 
than  to  myself.  Had  it  been  otherwise,  the  sagacity 
of  my  faithful  animal  would  put  me  at  ease.  "Weary, 
wet,  hungry,  and  cold,  not  having  tasted  food  or  seen 
fire  since  early  dawn,  I  spurred  him  forward  for 
several  long,  most  tedious  hours,  every  step  only 
seeming  to  bear  me  further  and  further  into  the  laud 
of  loneliness.  Weariness  induced  drowsiness,  and  I 
reeled  in  my  saddle  like  one  intoxicated.  In  my 
somnambulistic  state,  my  fancy  exaggerated  and  dis 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  235 

torted  the  shape  of  every  object,  and  created  objects 
where  jthere  were  none. 

In  the  dim  and  dusky  light  that  forced  itself  down 
upon  me  through  rents  in  the  leaden  clouds  and 
openings  in  the  tall  forests,  a  clump  of  undergrowth 
would  swell  into  a  mountain ;  and  at  times  I  seemed 
among  the  Alps,  threading  the  brink  of  a  fearful 
precipice,  amid  yawning  gorges  and  inaccessible 
heights.  Often  did  a  fire-blackened  stub,  or  a  bush, 
assume  the  shape  of  a  huge  bear  or  panther,  or  the 
still  more  startling  form  of  the  midnight  assassin.  I 
suppose  it  was  near  midnight  when  my  weary  horse 
stopped  of  his  own  accord,  as  if  for  consultation. 
As  if -'to  enjoy  his  society,  I  leaned  forward  and 
caressed  him  by  patting  him  on  the  neck.  To  the 
attachment  which  the  itinerant  feels  for  the  faithful 
creature  that  has  borne  him  so  many  miles,  and 
shared  so  largely  in  his  perils  and  privations,  I  can 
give  no  name.  This  was  my  first  circuit.  I  was  a 
youth,  fresh  from  school,  "green  and  tender,"  with 
the  ways  of  the  world  to  learn,  unacquainted  with 
forest  life.  I  believed,  without  abatement,  all  the 
exaggerated  accounts  of  forest  dangers.  Memory, 
unbidden,  would  intrude  upon  me  the  unwelcome 
accounts  of  persons  being  devoured  by  panthers 
springing  suddenly  upon  them  from  trees,  and  of  the 
hair-breadth  escapes  of  persons  being  chased  by 
wolves,  etc.  And  it  was  no  small  addition  to  the 


236  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

V* 

unpleasantness  of  such  recollections,  that  just  while 
they  were  crowding  into  my  mind,  an  enormous 
"screech-owl,"  just  over  my  head,  gave  a  scream 
that  might  have  terrified  old  Terror  himself.  Such 
a  scream !  I  have  heard  nothing  like  it  since,  though 
I  have  spent  ten  years  in  the  "Western  woods;  why, 
it  caused  the  hair  upon  my  head  to  stand  up  like 
the  quills  of  a  porcupine.  I  thought  of  home,  four 
hundred  miles  distant ;  of  its  safety  and  its  quiet ;  of 
the  sweet  and  smiling  companionship  of  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  of  him  and  her  who  were  the  guardian 
angels  of  that  happy  group.  Bewildered  until  all 
effort  to  locate  the  cardinal  points  was  mere  guess- 
work— the  night  starless  and  moonless — I  stood 
straining  my  ears  to  catch,  if  possible,  the  tink- 
ling of  some  cow-bell,  or  the  bark  of  some  settler's 
dog.  All  was  as  silent  as  if  nature  stood  still  and 
held  her  breath.  All  at  once,  however,  this  silence 
was  broken  by  a  prolonged,  lugubrious  noise,  alternat- 
ing between  a  howl  and  a  yell,  but  a  short  distance 
from  me.  This  was  succeeded  by  another,  another, 
another,  and  another,  until  all,  as  if  by  way  of 
chorus,  blended  their  horrific  howl  into  one  continu-' 
ous  babel.  The  forest  seemed  full  of  furies  just  let 
loose.  My  horse  seemed  startled,  and  made  a  turn 
at  right-angles  from  the  narrow  trail,  though  I  knew 
it  not  at  the  time.  I  found  myself  plunging  and 
tearing  through  thickets  of  undergrowth,  the  howling 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  237 

savages  following  close  in  the  rear.  For  a  moment, 
the  howling  would  cease  altogether ;  and  then,  after 
a  long  and  introductory  howl  from  one  which  seemed 

i 

the  leader,  from  twenty  to  forty  others  appeared  to 
chime  in  most  hideously.  When  there  was  a  pause 
in  the  howling  it  alarmed  me,  if  possible,  the  most, 
as  I  could  not  tell  where  my  enemy  was.  At  every 
successive  howl,  I  perceived  that  they  were  ap- 
proaching me  nearer  and  nearer,  and  fast  surround- 
ing me.  I  now  perceived  that  I  was  out  of  the  road, 
surrounded  by  a  compound  of  undergrowth,  so  thick, 
and  scragged,  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  penetrate 
it.  Losing  all  sympathy  for  my  horse  in  the  desire 
of  self-preservation,  I  clapped  my  spurs  to  his  sides 
most  unmercifully,  and  jerked  at  the  bridle  until  I 
broke  one  rein.  My  "leggins"  had  been  torn  off 
in  the  bushes  already  ;  the  skirt  of  my  .overcoat  was 
nearly  gone ;  my  whip,  in  attempts  to  use  it,  was  en- 
tangled in  the  bushes  and  lost ;  and  as  a  "  broad- 
brimmefl  hat"  and  a  "  round-breasted  coat"  were 
considered  in  those  days  indispensable  badges  of  a 
Methodist  preacher's  calling,  if  not  of  his  sanctity, 
mine  had  been  prepared  "  expressly"  for  the  travel- 
ing connection.  My  hat  had  gone  after  my  whip, 
and  my  coat  was  "  seeing  some  service"  that  night. 
On,  on  through  the  thicket,  tore  my  horse ;  nearer 
and  nearer  approached  my  prowling  tormentors, 
when  an  impertinent  grape-vine  tore  away  one  of 


238      INCIDENTS  IN  ITINERANCY. 

my  stirrups,  carrying  with  it  my  "  saddle-bags"  and 
nearly  unhorsing  me.  Thus  was  I  strewing  my  path 
with  the  wreck  of  my  itinerant  outfit. 

My  howling  foe  now  seemed  within  a  few  yards 
of  me,  and  all  around  me ;  for,  by  pulling  away  at 
one  rein,  in  the  desperation  of  my  flight,  I  found 
that  I  had  been  traveling,  as  logicians  say  we 
sometimes  argue,  "  in  a  circle."  I  thought  of  leav- 
ing my  saddle  and  taking  to  a  tree,  but  this  seemed 
impracticable ;  besides,  to  accomplish  it,  I  must 
leave  my  horse  and  get  on  the  ground,  which 
seemed  like  descending  into  a  den  of  hungry  lions. 
I  resolved  on  one  desperate  effort  for  life ;  so  abandon- 
ing my  horse  to  his  own  course,  I  drew  up  my  feet 
and  leaned  forward  in  my  saddle  like  a  Camanche 
Indian  in  the  chase,  clinching  his  mane  with  both 
hands,  and  applying  my  well-spurred  heels  to  his 
sides,  with  much  of  the  force  and  something  of  the 
rapidity  of  trip-hammers.  He  snorted  and  plunged 
forward,  at  a  leap,  through  the  matted,  thorny 
thicket,  bush  and  brier,  making  free  to  batter  and 
saw  my  face,  as  if  this  had  been  their  "  manifest 
destiny." 

On  my  provoked  beast  tore,  and  to  him  I  clung 
as  if  I  had  been  bound  there  like  Mazeppa  in 
the  poem.  Hope  was  reviving  a  little  as  I 
found  I  left  the  howling  behind,  when  suddenly 
my  horse  emerged  into  an  open  space.  At  the 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  239 

same  moment  the  sharp  report  of  a  gun,  followed 
by  the  barking  of  a  great  dog,  turned  my  furious 
horse  around,  which  was  followed  again  by  a  fa- 
miliar voice: 

"  Who  come  dare  ?    Who  dat  ?" 

"  It  is  I,"  I  replied  in  my  confusion ;  and  as  the 
loquacious  "  darkey  "  approached,  (my  hungry  horse 
putting  down  his  head  to  graze,)  he  commenced : 
"Did  you  hear  dem  wolves?  dey  comes  here  'most 
ebbery  night  an'  howls  out  in  dat  ticket ;  dey  atter 
massa's  sheep,  an'  me  been  waching  to  see  if  dey 
come  out,  to  shoot  um,  but  de  bush  crack  so  in 
dare,"  (pointing  just  where  I  had  issued  from  the 
bushes,)  "  dat  I  bang  away  anyhow." 

The  lyaHl  had  actually  passed  within  a  few  inches 
of  me.  Suddenly  recognizing  my  whereabouts,  and 
finding  myself  safe  within  almost  a  stone's  throw  of 
a  "  Methodist  preacher's  home,"  I  dismounted  from 
my  horse,  and  felt,  in  my  gratitude,  like  embracing 
the  swarthy,  thick-lipped  masculine  before  me. 
But  I  found  myself,  at  first,  unable  to  stand ;  and 
Brother  Peter,  (for  Peter  was  his  name — a  very  pious 
negro,)  who  had  been  "  waching  "  for  "  de  preacher 
as  well  as  de  wolves,"  recognizing  me,  and  construing 
my  physical  inability,  accompanied  as  it  was  by 
some  religious  ejaculations,  into  a  proof  that  I  had 
the  "powers,"  commenced  shouting,  "Bless  de  Lord!" 
"  Why,  halleluya !"  loud  enough  to  have  frightened 


240  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

half  the  wolves  in  Missouri.  The  first  burst  of  his 
ecstasy  over,  he  inquired: 

"Massa,  whar's  yer  hat?    Whar?" 

But  my  answer  to  pious  Peter  I  must  reserve  for 
another  chapter. 


CHAPTEK  II. 

WITH  the  feelings  of  a  stranger,  with  a  heart 
yearning  toward  the  shrine  of  "sweet  home,"  far 
away,  how  cheering  to  the  weary  itinerant  the  hearty 
welcome  with  which  he  is  wont  to  meet  at  a  "house- 
hold of  faith !"  In  the  bosom  of  that  family,  where 
the  peculiarly  fraternal  spirit  of  Methodism  reigns  in 
all  its  ardor,  its  freshness,  frankness,  simplicity,  con- 
fidence, and  hospitality,  he  finds  a  balm  for  his  dis- 
consolation ;  a  rest  that  relieves  fatigue ;  goes  far  to 
reward  his  toils  and  compensate  for  his  privations. 
Hospitality,  always  one  of  the  richest  graces  of  the 
hearth-stone,  is  sweetened  into  a  feast  of  heaven 
when  it  flows  in  Christian  sympathy  and  commingles 
with  the  communion  of  saints.  How  fruitfully  sug- 
gestive in  blessings  to  the  self-sacrificing  itinerant  is 
the  phrase,  "  a  good  home  for  Methodist  preachers  ?" 

"When- 1  told  Peter  how  I  had  been  frightened, 
the  noble  fellow  sobbed  with  sorrow,  and  lifting  me 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  241 

into  the  saddle,  as  if  I  had  been  a  child,  he  led  my 
horse  to  his  master's  door  with  as  much  solicitude 
as  if  in  charge  of  "  Caesar  and  his  fortunes."  As  I 
was  announced,  the  retired  family  of  Brother  B. 
were  soon  in  motion,  and  I  was  received  as  if  I  had 
been  a  long-absent  member,  just  returned.  Under 
the  influence  of  friendship,  fire,  food,  and  sleep,  I 
was,  by  morning,  "  myself  again,"  mauger  the 
doubts  of  my  identity,  which  the  glass  would  seem 
to  justify.  Looking  about  me,  as  I  made  my'  toilet, 
I  was  surprised  to  find  my  portmanteau,  hat,  whip, 
etc.,  lost  in  my  flight,  all  restored.  The  faithful 
Peter  had  early  retraced  my  steps  in  the  thicket, 
and  found  these  scattered  conveniences  but  a  short 
distance  from  the  house.  Seated  at  the  breakfast 
table,  the  affair  of  the  preceding  night  had  to  be 
related  to  the  whole  family,  who  seemed  to  listen 
with  a  spirit  of  sympathy  and  laughter  alternately 
in  the  ascendant.  Sister  B.  especially,  though  not 
wanting  in  pity,  rather  twitted  me,  I  thought,  on 
my  want  of  courage.  She  was  a  lady  of  sound 
piety  and  cultivated  intellect,  but  rather  masculine 
in  her  constitution,  both  physically  and  mentally. 
The  perils  and  privations  of  a  backwoods  life  had 
strengthened  this  character.  She  was  infinitely  re- 
moved from  the  mere  thing  of  ribbon  and  rouge, 
curls  and  cosmetics,  band-boxes  and  bustles;  and 
in  her  denunciation  of  that  prudery ;  and  soft,  swoon- 


242  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

ing  effeminacy,  that  considers  it  a  grace  to  scream 
hysterically  at  a  clap  of  thunder,  and  faint  at  the 
sight  of  a  snake  or  snail,  her  tender  mercies  were 
cruel.  The  daughter  of  a  man  who  had  eminently 
distinguished  himself  in  the  Indian  fights  of  the 
West,  in  those  "  times  that  tried  men's  souls,"  and 
the  wife  of  a  man  who  claimed  affinity  with  Daniel 
Boone,  the  Nimrod  of  Kentucky,  Sister  B.  could,  at 
least,  defend  her  own  poultry  from  the  opossum  and 
the  catamount ;  and,  if  necessary,  could  level  her 
husband's  rifle  at  the  bold  buck  or  bear  that  might 
leap  into  the  adjacent  field.  Wit,  too,  was  a  sharp 
weapon  in  her  hands,  and  with  difficulty  she  resisted 
the  temptation  to  use  it,  even  at  the  expense  of  the 
feelings  of  a  friend.  With  her,  as  with  old  pioneers 
generally,  the*  forest  had  but  few  terrors.  Indeed, 
all  seemed  to  think,  that  my  fears  were  very  dispro- 
portionate to  the  actual  danger.  Wolves  were  very 
common,  but  instances  of  their  attacking  a  man  on 
horseback  were  considered  exceedingly  apocryphal. 
The  sheepfold  of  Brother  B.,  it  was  believed,  at- 
tracted them  around  his  farm,  and  my  position 
between  them  and  their  fleecy  victims,  it  was  con- 
sidered, was  the  chief  cause  of  their  howling,  and 
but  for  my  circuitous  movement  in  the  bushes,  I 
might  have  reached  the  house  nearly  an  hour  before 
I  did.  I  had  myself,  in  my  alarm,  urged  my  horse 
from  the  direct  path,  and  thus  was  my  danger  con- 


INCIDENTS  IN  ITINERANCY.     243 

sidered  mostly  imaginary,  and  my  troubles  imputed 
to  timidity.  I  looked  out  of  the  door,  and  the  sun 
of  a  most  lovely  and  mellow  morning  was  flooding 
creation  with  an  ocean  of  silvery  and  golden  light. 
•Daylight  seenjed  to  make  a  hero  of  me.  I  turned 
again  to  the  glass,  and  resolved  that  just  as  soon  as 
the  scratches  upon  my  beardless  phiz  no  longer  re- 
quired explanation,  to  give  no  prominence  to  the 
story  of  having  been  "  chased  by  a  gang  of  hungry 
wolves  ;"  at  least  while  it  appeared  so  problematical 
that  I  had,  myself,  been  for  some  time  ^frightening 
the  wolves,  though  not  quite  as  bad  as  they  had 
frightened  me.  For  the  sake,  however,  of  the  fol- 
lowing finale,  I  have  violated  my  resolve,  and  now 
pen  the  whole  story  somewhat  at  my  own  expense. 

Like  illuminated  spots  in  the  sun,  eccentricities 
become  relieving  graces  when  they  are  seen  in  the 
effulgence  of  genius ;  and  even  when  they  verge  to 
extremes  and  become  the  defects  of  genius,  in  her 
magic  light  they  wear  the  hues  of  an  attractive  en- 
chantment. Hence  those  that  admire,  but  possess 
but  little  genius,  are  always  tempted  to  mimicry,  and 
as  the  defects  of  genius  are  most  easily  imitated, 
these  are  the  first  attempted,  even  at  the  expense 
of  rendering  themselves  ridiculous.  I  had  heard 
much  talk  of  a  preacher  whose  praise  was  in  all  the 
Churches,  with  whom  it  was  a  striking  peculiarity 
that  he  took  most  singularly  odd  texts.  The  follow- 
16 


244  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

ing  had  been  repeated  to  me  as  fair  specimens  of  his 
taste  in  that  particular :  "  Shern,  Ham,  and  Japhet ;" 
"  There  are  six  steps  to  the  throne ;"  "  I  have  put 
off  my  coat ;  how  shall  I  put  it  on  ?"  "  Woe  to  the 
women  that  sew  pillows  to  all  armholes ;"  "  Ephraim 
is  a  cake  not  turned,"  etc.  Resolved  to  vie  with  my 
popular  predecessor  in  quaint  and  ear-catching  text- 
ualities,  I  had  already  preached  from  the  single 
words  "  Sin,"  "  Religion,"  and  from  the  interjection 
"  Alleluia,"  and  on  my  last  round  in  this  region  of 
backwoods,  bear  meat,  and  buckskin,  I  had  enlight- 
ened the  'brawny,  staring  tenantry  of  log  cabins  from 
this" :  "  I  am  the  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilder- 
ness." On  this  occasion  of  officiating  at  Brother 
B.'s,  I  had  fixed  upon  Genesis  22,  first  clause  of 
the  13th  verse.  My  congregation,  pedestrian  and 
mounted,  emerging  in  "Indian  file"  from  the  sur- 
rounding forest,  began  to  assemble  from  all  quarters 
of  the  "  settlement,"  as  was  quite  common,  from  two 

to  three  hours  before  the  time  of  service.     It  consist- 

•  • 

ed  of  ten  or  fifteen  men,  several  of  whom  carried 
guns,  and  nearly  all  accompanied  by  a  dog,  [it  was 
not  the  Sabbath,  and  the  chance  of  surprising  a  deer 
was  not  to  be  lost,]  and  from  ten  to  twenty  smoke- 
sallowed  matrons,  [woman  always  makes  the  major- 
ity in  approaches  to  her  Maker,]  generally  happy 
specimens  of  haleness  and  obesity,  on  horseback, 
with  a  larger  child  behind  and  a  lesser  before,  to 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  245 

which  may  be  added  several  well-grown  daughters 
and  a  proportionate  number  of  the  youthful  lordly 
sex.  Also,  an  occasional  sorrow-stricken  widow, 
whose  companion,  perhaps,  had  but  just  cleared 
enough  of  his  new  farm  for  his  cabin  yard  and  early 
grave;  one  or  two  patriarchal  "grand-pas,"  several 
negroes,  and  now  and  then  an  Indian  who  had  lin- 
gered behind  his  exiled  tribe,  to  die  on  the  dese- 
crated ashes  of  his  ancestors.  The  greeting  of  those 
rustic  neighbors  on"meetin'"  days  was  most  cordial, 
and  it  used  to  refresh  my  heart  to  see  it.  The  elder- 
ly sisters  formed  a  chatting  semicircle  around  the 
mammoth  fire-place,  and  regaled  themselves  with 
pipes.  The  men  and  brethren  chatted,  in  the  yard,  or 
lounged  on  the  benches  and  the  fence.  The  young 
folks  were  silent  in  their  bashfulness,  occasionally 
summing  up  sufficient  courage  to  whisper,  and  in  the 
general,  looking  a  very  intelligible  language.  Now 
and  then  a  young  man,  with  a  club  that  would  have 
served  the  purpose  of  Hercules,  acted  as  a  special 
peace  messenger  between  two  quarrelsome  curs, 
who,  like  some  nations,  seemed  to  fight  for  scarcely 
any  other  reason  than  to  indulge  their  love  of  it. 
All  treated  the  minister  with  profound  respect,  and 
waited  patiently  the  hour  of  worship.  Our  sanctuary 
was  a  large,  oblong  log-house  ;  two  curtainless  beds 
stood  foot  to  foot  across  one  end  of  the  room,  and  a 
little  two- feet  square  window,  with  oiled  paper  for 


246  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

glass,  aided  by  the  chimney,  sundry  crevices  and  the 
"  cat  hole"  in  the  door,  served  to  light  it.  Under 
the  window,  by  the  side  of  a  rickety  stand,  cover- 
ed with  a  snow  white  cloth,  mounted  by  the  old 
family  Bible,  a  hymn  book,  and  the  class  book,  sat 
the  preacher,  gravely  conning  over  his  sermon,  and 
watching  a  switch-pendulumed  Yankee  clock  for  the 
hour  to  commence.  Believe  me,  dear  reader,  often 
has  the  writer  in  preaching  "  Jesus  and  the  resurrec- 
tion" to  such  groups  of  sturdy  yeomanry,  who  have 
occupied  civilization's  outposts,  communed  with 
transport  with  "HiM  who  dwelt  in  the  bush,"  and 
felt  that  he  trod  on  holy  ground.  Here  was  none  of 
the  starch,  the  stiffness,  the  formalities*  the  conven- 
tionalities of  a  fashionable  sanctuary  to  interpose 
between  the  worshiper  and  "the  throne  of  the 
heavenly  grace."  Though  rude,  all  was  simple  and 
artless.  In  such  reminiscences,  we  could  almost 
wish  to  recall  the  realities  ;  they  are  spots  green  and 
sunny  in  the  retrospect  of  memory.  Primitive,  pio- 
neering Methodism,  will  long  be  fragrant  in  the 
memory  of  the  Church. 

Precisely  at  the  time  all  seated  themselves  in  the 
house,  but  the  "  brethren  of  color,"  who  stood  jam- 
med in  the  corners  and  wedged  in  the  door,  reveal- 
ing their  ivory  in  their  delight.  The  intelligence  of 
Sister  B.  in  this  motley  congregation,  made  her  as 
a  philosopher  among  the  "  plebeians."  She  was  a 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  247 

ruling  spirit.  Disposed  to  criticise  my  faults  with  a 
most  unmerciful  silence  on  the  subject  of  my  merits, 
she  was  no  small  terror  to  me,  being  not  yet  three 
months  old  in  the  ministry,  on  my  first  circuit,  and 
at  the  age  of  seventeen.  Certainly  her  look  of  ap- 
probation, or  real,  or  fancied  disapprobation,  had  not 
a  little  to  do  in  assuring  or  disconcerting  me. .  With 
a  repetition  and  due  emphasis,  I  arose  and  read 
for  my  text,  "  Behold  a  ram  caught  in  a  thicket  by 
his  horns."  Sister  B.  dropped  her  head,  and  I 
thought  others  did  the  same,  i  blushed  and  put 
my  hand  up  to  my  marred  face,  the  bright  furrows 
on  which,  the  looking-glass  in  the  clock  just  in  front 
of  me  that  moment,  revealed  the  fact  of  myself  hav- 
ing been  "  caught  in  the  thicket"  the  night  previous, 
filled  my  mind  with  ideas  of  the  ridiculous.  All 
thoughts  that  I  would  have  uttered  fled  to  oblivion. 
The  genius  of  "confusion  more  confounded"  took 
possession  of  my  sensitive  frame.  It  grew  dark 
before  me,  and  the  perspiration  stood  in  large  drops 
upon  my  brow.  There  are  but  few  preachers  but 
know  something  of  the  unwelcome  feelings  that  suc- 
ceed a  pulpit  failure.  I  stammered  through  my  dis- 
course, and  was  glad  when  the  people  dispersed,  as  I 
wished  to  get  out  of  sight. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  accompanying 
the  charitable  Peter  to  the  barn  to  see  my  horse,  as 
a  small  relief  to  my  mortified  feelings,  J  thought  I 


248  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

would  "pump  him"  a  little  on  the  subject  of  the 
sermon.  "  How  did  you  like  the  sermon,"  says  I, 
"Peter?"  "O,  berry  well,  berry  well,  massa,  -but 
missus  says  as  how  your  text  and  scratched  face 
make  her  tink  all  de  time  of  Abraham's  big  sheep 
in  de  bushes."  I  learned  from  that  time  that  sensi- 
ble people  will  judge  something  of  the  taste  anc* 
common  sense  of  a  preacher  by  the  texts  he  takes 


CHAPTER  HI. 

To  the  lonely,  benighted,  and  bewildered  traveler, 
a  distant  home-light  streaming  out  into  the  gloom,  as 
if  to  meet  him,  is  gratefully  welcome ;  precious,  at 
times,  as  the  star  of  hope  dawning  on  the  darkness 
of  destiny.  Sparks  ascending  in  flocks  from  the 
spacious  mouth  of  the  "stick  chimney,"  glowing,  hurry- 
ing, fading,  gone ;  fit  emblem  of  life,  so  soon  lost  in 
eternity,  whither  faith,  but  not  sight,  may  follow 
them ;  a  lamp  flickering  through  the  cabin  window, 
or  the  cheerful  hearth-fire  shining  through  the  half 
"  chinked  "  walls  of  rough  logs ;  the  fierce  bark  from 
a  troop  of  faithful  watch-dogs,  with  a  loud  shout 
of  "  Get  out !"  from  the  hospitable  inmates,  as  the 
house  is  approached — are  all  to  the  backwoodsman 


INCIDENTS  IN  ITINERANCY.     249 

fraught  with  the  "  spell  of  home."  A  word  that 
has  but  two  others — Mother,  Heaven — to  vie  with 
it  in  sweetness,  and  they  are  of  kindred  meaning. 
After  a  hard  day's  travel  through  the  Cypress 
Swamps  that  constitute  much  of  the  "  Big  Bottoms  " 
that  stretch  along  the  western  bank  of  the  Missis- 
sippi in  Eastern  Missouri,  I  was  minded  of  my 
approach  to  a  small  settlement  of  "Squatters" 
embosomed  in  this  Paradise  of  frogs,  Elysium  of 

snakes,  and  Gibraltar  of  wild  "  varmints "  by  the 

•i 

distant  twinkling  of  fire-lights.  The  day,  for  night 
had  overtaken  me,  had  been  dark  and  rainy,  and 
the  damp,  chill  winds  (it  was  late  in  autumn)  had 
moaned  through  the  yew-like  foliage,  like  lost 
spirits  "  seeking  rest,  and  finding  none."  A  spirit  of 
melancholy,  too  deep  for  the  tender,  sweet,  and  weep- 
ing inspirations  of  poetry,  had  been  inspired.  The 
fact  was,  it  bordered  on  the  "  blues."  It  had  not 
rained  very  hard,  but  the  low,  sluggish  clouds  seemed 
to  have  caught  and  hung  in  the  tops  of  the  tall 
cypress-trees,  keeping  up  an  incessant  mildew-like 
drizzling.  A  luxuriant  undergrowth,  top-heavy  with 
wet,  bent  inward  over  the  narrow  "  trail,"  forming  at 
places  a  dark,  dripping  arcade,  and  at  others  droop- 
ing so  low  as  to  compel  my  horse  to  creep  under  it 
like  a  "gopher"  in  prairie  grass,  leaving  one  to 
tear  through,  or  to  be  torn  off,  according  to  the 
"force  of  circumstances."  Eve"ry  now  and  then 


250  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

a  muddy,  creeping  stream  or  bayou,  crossed  my 
track,  through  which  .1  must  swim  my  pony;  or, 
as  they  were  generally  narrow,  the  trunk  of  a 
fallen  tree  often  served  me  as  a  bridge,  by  the  side 
of  which  I  could  swim  my  snorting,  plunging  pony. 
I  scarcely  need  tell  the  reader  that  I  had  been  the 
"  live  long  day "  wet  as  a  soaked  sponge.  My 
woolen  garments,  weighty  with  wet,  seemed  to  have 
lost  the  power  of  resisting  cold,  and  felt  like  sheets 
of  ice.  In  short,  the  best  image  of  the  idea  I  had 
of  myself,  was  that  of  a  stone  statue  in  a  wet  cave. 
I  resolved,  therefore,  on  sharing  the  first  shelter, 
and  spreading  my  bearskin  and  blanket  before  the 
first  fire  where  I  could  meet  with  a  welcome  that 
did  not  amount  to  a  prohibition.  Reining  up  my 
horse  in  a  volume  of  oblong  light  that  was  flung  out 
from  a  huge  fire  through  a  rude,  half-closed  cabin 
door,  into  the  vapory  gloom,  I  hailed  the  happy 
inmates  that  were  seated  in  a  semicircle  around  it, 
enjoying  themselves  with  mirth  most  uproarious. 
The  dogs  were  absent  "  on  duty  "  as  well  as  their 
master,  with  the  exception  of  a  wee  cur,  about  the 
size  of  grimalkin,  which  barked  a  scream,  and  with 
disclosed  tusks  threatened  myself  and  horse  with 
immediate  annihilation.  Little  dogs,  like  little  men, 
seldom  seem  to  know  they  are  little.  A  lady — [  you 
are  to  understand  this  word,  not  in  its  modern,  but  in 
its  original  sense, 'which  was  bread-giver'] — a  lady 


INCIDENTS    IN   ITINERANCY.  261 

I 
came  to  the  door  and  inquired,  "Whose  thar?"    I 

told  her  I  was,  unworthily,  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel ; 
a  missionary  visiting  the  neighborhood  for  the  first 
time,  and  that  I  had  been  directed  to  stop  at  Mr.  F.'s. 
She  "had  heern  of  me" — "Mr.  F.  lived  five  mile 
further  up  the  creek;  I  couldn't  get  there  to-night, 
no  how ;"  she  "  guessed  as  how  I  better  stop  thar 
all  night,"  though  her  "  husband  and  Cuba  was  off 
bear  huntin',"  but  she  "  spected  one  or  tother  would 
be  home  certain  that  night" — that  there  was  "a 
mighty  good  place  right  by  where  I  could  hobble 
out  my  horse,  or  I  could  tie  him  to  a  tree  and  give 
him  some  blades."  During  this  kind  colloquy,  the 
little  dog,  with  bristles  erect,  growled  on  guard,  and 
some  half  a  dozen  children,  "  with  just  a  year 
twixt  um,"  gaping  with  curiosity  and  shrinking 
with  fear,  the  smaller  ones  clinging  to  "mamma," 
and  the  least  ssbbing  and  stifling  a  scream  in  his 
fright,  stood  huddled  in  the  door.  Perhaps  some 
will  call  it  a  whim  of  mine,  or  a  want  of  charity; 
but  to  confess  the  truth,  great  talkativeness  in  a 
woman  always  excites  in  me  caution,  and  at  least 
a  tacit  suspicion  of  mischief.  My  thoughts  will 
recur,  in  spite  of  me,  to  that  most  innocent  and 
persecuted  of  all  creatures,  according  to  her  own 
most  eloquent  showing,  the  tattler.  But  the  loqua- 
city of  our  landlady,  on  this  occasion,  seemed  but  to 
assure  me  of  a  hearty  welcome  to  her  frugal  home  in 


252      INCIDENTS  IN  ITINERANCY. 

the  wild  woods.  Continuing,  she  remarked,  "  that 
thar  had  been  a  right  smart  chance  of  bears  about 
that  season,"  and  "  that  Billy  here,"  pointing  to  a 
little  flaxen-haired,  fire-frizzled,  barefooted  son  of 
about  ten  years,  whose  face,  which  was  brunetted 
with  a  fine  coat  of  smoke  and  bear's  oil,  was  lighted 
up,  the  meantime,  with  a  self-sufficient  smile  of 
triumph  that  would  have  graced  a  hero — "Billy 
here,"  says  she,  "  killed  a  CUB  tother  day,  his  lone 
self,  so  he  did!"  "With  this  maternal  eulogy  the 
young  Nimrod  advanced  and  took  the  reins  of  my 
horse,  while  I  dismounted  and  walked  into  the 
house,  "Trip"  disputing  my  entrance  inch  by  inch, 
the  children  retreating  before  me  like  young  par- 
tridges, the  mother  bidding  me  welcome,  with  a 
sharp  "  get  out "  to  the  poodle,  a  "  hush  up  "  to  the 
alarmed  responsibilities,  and  with  an  emphatic  com- 
mand to  "Ginny"  to  "sweep  up  a  little."  This 
mandate  was  executed  forthwith,  to  the  great  annoy- 
ance of  my  asthmatic  breathing  organs,  by  the 
stirring,  most  lustily,  of  some  half  an  inch  of  ashes 
and  dust  on  a  dirt  hearth  and  "puncheon"  floor, 
with  a  bunch  of  broom  corn  bound  up  with  a  tow 
string. 

It  is  a  fact  as  common  as  it  is  unfortunate  that 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  state  of  civilization, 
unexpected  visitors  are  always  sure  to  drop  in  just 
when  the  house  is  most  out  of  order  and  needs 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  253 

sweeping  the  most,  not  to  name  the  fact  that  the 
children  on  such  occasions  are  sure  to  be  not  only 
in  their  worst  fix,  but  more  troublesome  than  on 
any  other  occasions.  At  least  my  aid  mother — 
green  be  the  turf  above  her  tear-dewed  grave!— 
my  mother,  and  her  testimony  is  corroborated  by 
the  ladies  generally — my  mother,  I  say,  used  to 
say  so  apologetically,  to  such  droppers  in,  as  she 
would  call  me  to  her,  on  such  occasions,  and  stroke 
back  my  tangled,  floating  locks,  and  rebuke  me 
for  carelessly  soiling  and  tearing  my  clothes  so 
much,  and  making  such  a  "litter."  Then  taking 
my  age  for  a  text,  which  the  visitor  in  compliment 
had  asked,  she  was  wont  to  wind  up  by  treating 
him  to  a  dissertation  on  my  precocious  genius. 
Reader,  even  now  I  feel,  in  fancy,  the  impress  oi 
that  soft  hand  upon  my  throbbing  brow.  Such 
events  are  associated  with  the  proudly  joyous  mo- 
ments of  our  early  existence — the  balmy  memories 
of  other  days,  forever  fled,  which  we  fondly  sum- 
mon from  the  past,  to  come  and  fold  their  soft 
wings  about  our  saddened  hearts,  burdened  with 
the  stern,  cold  realities  of  riper  years. 

After  a  sumptuous  supper  of  "  corn-dodger," 
bear-beef,  butter-milk,  and  wild  honey,  I  had  time 
to  look  around  me,  address  myself  to  such  specific 
duty  of  my  "  high  calling"  as  the  occasion  required, 
and  retire  to  rest.  I  had  so  far  tamed  the  children, 


254  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

that  several  of  them  stood  kissing  (their  faces  had 
undergone,  ablution  while  I  was  at  supper — a  rare 
circumstance,  I  should  think,)  without  crying. 
Soon  two  o£  the  little  neglected  triflers  consented 
to  sit  on  my  knee,  a  bold  step,  which  I  was  very 
careful  to  reward.  The  mother  seemed  much  de- 
lighted. Having  secured  the  confidence  of  all,  I 
introduced  the  subject  of  religion.  And  here,  in 
its  simplest  elements,  I  was  at  once  beyond  the 
depth  of  my  household  auditory.  The  boys  had 
never  been  to  school — "had  no  larnin'" — "never 
hearn  anybody  pray  but 'once,  and  that  was  at  a 
buryin'  when  Mrs.  W.  died  with  the  ager  and  fever" 
— "they  never  seed  a  Bible,  and  never  knowed  it 
was  wrong  to  go  coonin'  on  Sunday" — "  they  never 
had  goed  to  meetin',  but  would  like  to."  Reader, 
my  heart  seemed  to  break  over  this  little  semi-civ- 
ilized, benighted  group,  as  I  spoke  to  them  of  sin 
and  a  Saviour.  But  how  was  I  shocked  on  turning 
to  a  mother  and  asking  her  if  she  knew  of  the  death 
of  Jesus,  when  she  exclaimed,  "Is  he  dead?" — "Well 
we  had  hearn  out  here  of  the  death  of  Franklin,  and 
"Washin'ton,  and  all  the  great  Injun  fighters,  but 
never  knowed  afpre  that  Jesus  was  dead!" 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  255 


CHAPTEK  IV. 

THOUGH  sorrowful  of  heart,  I  was  much  refreshed 
in  my  weariness  from  the  amj>le  bounty  of  the  rude 
board,  the  warmth  of  the  huge  fire,  blazing  in  a 
chimney  which  occupied  nearly  one  end  of  the 
house,  and  before  which  I  lingered  long,  for  the 
twofold  purpose  of  drying  my  clothing  and  of 
being  up  when  my  huntjng  host  or  his  hopeful  son 
should  return.  Child  after  child  nodded  around  me, 
obstinately  refusing  to  go  to  bed,  while  stories  of 
rare  adventure  in  fishing,  bee  and  bear  hunting, 
snake-killing,  and  dangers  from  "Injuns"  in  early 
times,  were  related  to  me  with  a  rare  fluency  and 
naturalism,  and  in  the  patois  of  the  squatter,  by 
mine  lady  of  the  manor.  I  finally  proposed  prayer 
and  retirement,  as  the  latter  had  become  a  necessity, 
for  .sleep  had  overpowered  me.  Kneeling  amid 
the  little  group,  but  one  or  two  of  whom  followed 
my  example,  I  commended  the  household  to  God. 
Opening  my  eyes  in  the  devotion,  a  most  singular 
spectacle  presented  itself.  The  hospitable  but  illit- 
erate mother,  with  her  children,  who  were  pagans 
in  all  that  pertained  to  prayer,  sat  or  stood  looking 
at  me  in  an  attitude  of  mute  surprise,  that  suggested, 


256  INCIDENTS    IN   ITINERANCY. 

in  spite  of  myself,  the  commingled  emotions  of  pity 
and  of  ridiculousness.  Such,  reader,  are  some  of 
the  positions  in  which  the  backwoods  missionary,  a 
quarter  of  a  century  ago,  found  himself  placed  in 
the  wilds  of  Missouri  and  Arkansas.  He  was  the 
first  teacher  and  civilizer  who  reached  this  class; 
a  class  occupying  a  position  between  civilization 
and  barbarism,  so  doubtful,  that  one  was  often  in 
difficulty  on  which  side  of  the  line  to  classify  them. 
A  class,  however,  we  are  happy  to  say,  who  gave 
the  missionary  a  cordial  welcome,  and  who  were 
readily  susceptible  to  religious  impressions. 

I  was  kindly  pointed  to  the  resemblance  of  a 
bed  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  on  to  which  I  threw 
myself,  with  my  dried  overcoat  for  a  covering,  and 
was  soon  lost  in  sleep  so  profound,  that  on  awaken- 
ing at  a  late  hour  in  the  morning,  it  seemed  as  if  a 
few  hours  of  my  conscious  existence  had  been  blotted 
out.  Not  even  a  fragment  of  a  half-remembered 
dream  could  I  recall.  I  was,  however,  completely 
refreshed,  and  as  I  looked  from  my  humble  cot,  the 
warm  breakfast  smoked  upon  the  rude  table,  and  the 
kind  mother  was  busily  engaged  in  preserving  a 
strict  silence  for  my  benefit.  For  the  last  two  hours 
she  had  probabljf  guarded  my  slumbers.  Every- 
thing about  the  cabin  partook  of  an  air  of  increased 
neatness  over  the  preceding  evening.  Golden  sun- 
light was  streaming  through  places  in  its  side,  where 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  257 

the  chinking  had  escaped.  The  door  was  open,  and  • 
the  yard  had  received  a  scavenger's  services.  The 
feet  of  deer,  bones,  and  other  fragments  of  a  hunter's 
victory,  were  all  removed  to  an  appropriate  distance. 
Even  the  little  dog  seemed  reconciled  to  my  visit, 
and,  curled  up  like  a  caterpillar,  laid  close  by  the 
side  of  my  bed.  I  at  once  felt  at  home.  The  scene, 
too,  was  fruitfully  suggestive.  Wherever  the  mis- 
sionary goes  domestic  cleanliness  whitens  on  his 
pathway.  Religion  is  a  great  face  washer.  Give  a 
squalid  people  the  Bible,  and  favor  them  with  a 
pastor's  presence,  and  the  use  of  soap  and  sand  will 
commence  at  once  greatly  to  increase.  The  man 
physical  is  as  suddenly  elevated  by  the  presence  of 
Christianity,  as  was  St.  Peter  aroused  by  the  touch 
of  an  angel.  In  these  ruder  strata  of  society,  it  is 
not  to  be  ranked  among  the  least  blessings  which  the 
itinerant  evangelist  dispenses  in  his  career,  that 
whenever  and  wherever  the  preacher  is  expected, 
increased  attention  is  paid  to  personal  and  household 
neatness.  The  preacher,  therefore,  who  should  be  a 
boor  or  a  sloven,  whatever  his  other  excellences 
might  be,  would  so  far  fail  in  the  requisite  qualifica- 
tions of  his  office. 

I  arose  at  once,  and  as  to  my  toilef,  it  only  needed 
a  little  adjustment,  and  after  walking  to  the  stream 
near  by,  and  taking  a  thorough  ablution,  I  felt  again 
those  pulsations  of  being,  that  enabled  me  for  once 


268  INCIDENTS  "IN    ITINERANCY. 

to  do  as  Combe  has  suggested  a  healthy,  grateful, 
feeling  man  should  always  do  :  set  my  foot  upon  the 
firm  earth,  and  "  thank  the  great  I  AM  that  /  am 
too."  The  sky  over  me  was  cloudless  and  deeply 
blue,  the  sun  seemed  rejoicing  on  his  journey,  and 
though  the  autumnal  winds  sighed  through  the 
forest  and  scattered  the  foliage  of  the  deciduous 
trees,  I  was  as  buoyant  as  children  about  a  May-pole 
on  that  gala  day.  I  was  ready  to  resume  my  journey 
"  five  miles  further  up  the  creek."  The  larger  boy, 
who  had  killed  the  cub  his  "  lone  self,"  had  faithfully 
groomed  my  horse,  and  adventured  to  accompany 
me  from  the  house,  while  the  other  children  peeped 
at  me  from  around  the  log  corners  and  through  the 
crevices.  I  was  minded  by  my  little  hero  that  break- 
fast was  in  waiting.  Just  at  this  moment,  however, 
two  or  three  large  curs,  as  if  acting  as  heralds,  came 
leaping  into  the  door  yard,  barking  a  good  morning, 
and  shaking  their  great  tails  and  throwing  their 
huge  paws  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  children,  who, 
understanding  the  whole,  exclaimed  with  delight, 
"  Dad  and  Cuba  is  come."  The  good  wife  immedi- 
ately left  the  house  to  meet  her  returning  husband, 
while  our  little  hero  above  mentioned  kept  me  com- 
pany, and  reconciled  me  to  the  dogs,  or,  rather,  the 
does  to  me.  "  Dad"  and  Cuba  were  both  mounted, 

O  ' 

and  were  now  at  hand,  and  though  they  brought  no 
"  bar"  as  a  trophy  of  their  success,  the  horse  of  the 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  259 

former  was  burdened  with  a  fine  buck,  and  Cuba  had 
strung  over  the  back  of  his  some  fine  wild  turkeys. 
As  the  wife  met  her  husband,  a  pause  ensued,  and  it 
was  by  no  means  difficult  to  divine  the  topic  of  con- 
versation. In  a  few  moments,  all  came  up  to  the 
door,  to  which  with  every  child  I  repaired  like  one 
of  the  family.  The  introduction  of  mine  hostess  con- 
sisted simply  in  pointing  me  to  the  man  on  horse- 
back, and  telling  me  that  he  was  her  husband.  I 
approached  him  with  the  readiest  familiarity,  and 
was  received  with  a  cordiality  which  seemed  to  say, 
"  I  am  not  sorry  to  find  you  here."  This  was  grate- 
ful. In  a  very  brief  space  of  time,  son  and  father 
had  disposed  of  their  game  and  horses,  had  washed 
the  blood  from  their  hands,  and  joined  us  at  break- 
fast. They  had  been  unsuccessful  in  a  bear  chase, 
became  belated,  stayed  all  night  at  a  neighbor's,  and 
had  taken  those  fine  spoils  of  Nimrod,  above  men- 
tioned, on  their  return  home,  on  that  morning.  If 
our  good  friend  had  seemed  pleased  out  of  doors,  he 
actually  seemed  more  so  when  he  came  in,  a  state  of 
feeling  which  we  have  reason  to  believe  the  unusu- 
ally neat  adjustment  in  which  he  found  his  home, 
contributed  not  a  little.  Like  his  spouse,  he  had 
"  heern"  of  me,  "  knowed  little  about  preachers,"  but 
"  if  they  had  come  to  his  cabin,  he  had  kind  o'  liked 
to  see  'em."  He  had  "  heern  from  neighbor  S.,  five 

miles  further  up  the  crick,  that  I  was  mighty  smart; 

17 


260  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

thought  he'd  go  to  ineetin'  some  day ;  I  musn't  leave 
thar  that  day  any  how ;  that  he  had  gone  off,  leavin' 
his  wife  with  nothin'  to  eat;  that  I  must  stop  and 
have  some  turkey  and  venison."  To  all  these  ex- 
pressions of  kindness  and  hospitality,  I  made  appro- 
priate responses,  informing  my  kind  retainer  that  I 
must  pursue  my  journey  that  morning,  as  I  was  ex- 
pected at  Mr.  S.'s,  where  I  was  to  hold  meeting 
twice  on  the  following  day,  which  was  the  Sabbath. 
I  also  urged  the  attendance  of  himself  and  wife,  on 
which  request  she  looked  at  her  namelessly  colored 
dress,  and  he  at  his  hunting-shirt,  but  said  nothing. 
I  repeated  my  request  with  a  promise,  if  they  would 
do  so,  I  would  try 'and  visit  them  again  in  some  six 
weeks.  Finally,  he  exclaimed,  "  Old  woman,  if  we 
are  poor,  we  are  as  well  off  as  our  neighbors.  I 
guess  as  how  we'll  go  up  to  Squire  S.'s  to-morrow." 
Assuring  them  that  I  should  be  much  disappointed 
if  I  did  not  see  them,  and  bidding  them  a  cordial 
good-by,  with  many  thanks  for  their  kindness,  I  re- 
sumed my  journey  up  the  creek.  When  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  house,  glancing  behind,  I  still  saw 
the  whole  family  in  the  yard  looking  after  me. 
Reader,  such  is  one  of  the  hopes  of  the  missionary. 
I  felt  that  an  open  door  was  there  set  before  me,  and 
murmuring  one  of  the  only  two  tunes  I  could  ever 
sing  perfectly,  Old  Hundred,  rode  joyfully  on  my 
journey.  I  ought  to  have  said,  that  my  mind  was 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  261 

much  relieved  in  reference  to  the  stolid  ignorance  of 
the  poor  woman,  when  on  the  morning  I  again  ad- 
verted to  our  Saviour  as  dying  for  sinners,  she  sud- 
denly exclaimed,  as  if  mortified  at  her  own  mistake 
of  the  evening  before,  "  O,  you  mean  Christ  of  the 
Bible,  don't  ye  ?"  "  Certainly  I  do,"  said  I.  "  O,  she 
had  heern  about  that,  and  knowed  a  heap  once,  but 
she  believed  they  never  would  know  anythin'  if  they 
didn't  go  to  meetin'." 

Yes,  thought  I,  "goin'  to  meetin'"  at  the  call  of 
the  devoted  itinerant,  has  always  been  the  beginning 
of  wisdom  and  germ  of  civilization  to  the  denizens  of 
the  first  cabins  that  thinly  dotted  the  "West ;  the  men 
of  the  hunting-shirt,  ax,  and  rifle.  When  the  agen- 
cies that  constructed  society  in  the  "great  West" 
that  was,  shall  be  truthfully  symbolized  on  an  appro- 
priate monument,  the  Methodist  Hymn  Book,  Dis- 
cipline, and  the  Bible,  will  appear  first  in  the  design, 
in  juxtaposition  with  the  SADDLE-BAGS,  AX,  AND  THE 

RIFLE. 


262  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

I  BOON  arrived  at  the  cabin  of  Brother  S.,  "five 
miles  further  up  the  creek,"  a  phrase,  by  the  way, 
which  must  be  only  understood  to  mean  the  follow- 
ing along  the  banks  of  a  sluggish,  muddy  stream, 
constituting  the  connecting  link  between  one  swamp 
or  morass — sometimes  called  lakes — and  another. 
By  the  earthquake,  of  1811-'12,  a  large  portion  of 
this  part  of  Missouri,  including  a  million  and  a  half 
of  acres,  was  sunk  from  one  to  six  feet  lower  than 
the  rest  of  the  world.  Immense  forests  of  moss- 
bearded  cypress,  .ash,  and  sugar-maple,  descended 
with  the  surface,  and  still  stand,  the  most  of  the  trees 
dead,  and  dropping  down  piecemeal,  like  the  limbs 
of  the  doomed  victims  of  the  gibbet,  into  the  turbid 
waters  beneath;  the  whole  surface  being  covered 
with  an  immense  web  of  rotting  timber.  The  spec- 
tacle is  a  peculiar  and  melancholy  one,  and  looks  as 
if  nature  here  had  resorted  to  an  execution.  All 
over  this  region  under  which  the  earthquake  slum- 
bers, are  to  be  found  small  districto  of  country  which 
were  not  submerged,  and  at  this  early  day,  had  been 
returned,  as  not  worth  the  price  of  surveying.  The 
land,  however,  is  fertile,  abounds  in  mast  and  wild 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  263 

game,  and  hence,  the  class  of  squatters  described 
sought  these  spots  to  live  free  from  the  tax-gatherer, 
to  take  possession  of  the  soil  upon  the  principles  that 
Adam  did,  and  engage  in  the  pleasures  and  emolu- 
ments of  the  chase  with  very  little  danger  of  that 
annoyance  which  Daniel  Boone  always  feared,  "of 
having  neighbors  settle  too  near  to  him."  Why  the 
miasma  of  these  interminable  marshes  did  not  sweep 
away  these  adventurers  like  the  sirocco  of  the  desert, 
I  was  never  able  satisfactorily  to  determine.  I  no- 
ticed, however,  that  the  waters  were  highly  colored 
and  thoroughly  impregnated  with  the  terebinthine 
principle  of  the  cypress  everywhere  abounding. 
Thus  may  nature  have  provided  its  own  catholicon. 
The  inhabitants  are  generally  healthy. 

The  house  of  Brother  S.  stood  upon  the  side  of  a 
gentle  ascent,  facing  an  extended  view  of  this  Golgo- 
tha of  dying  and  rotting  forests.  It  was  a  double 
cabin  of  logs,  with  porch  and  hall,  and  he  being  one 
of  the  oldest  inhabitants,  it  was  regarded  as  rather 
an  aristocratic  residence.  Cattle  and  swine,  however, 
had  free  access  to  the  very  door,  and  as  the  soil  was 
soft  just  after  the  rain,  there  was  much  adhesiveness 
just  where  the  thrifty  New-Englander  takes  care 
that  there  shall  be  none.  On  the  ends  and  sides  of 
the  house  were  stretched  deer,  raccoon,  and  other 
ekins,  drying  for  use.  A  huge  stick  chimney  graced 
each  end  of  the  building,  and  just  in  the  rear  and  a 


264     INCIDENTS  IN  ITINERANCY. 

little  further  up  the  ascent,  stood  a  comical  nonde- 
script little  cabin,  not  far  from  which,  a  spring  of  ap- 
parently pure  water  bubbled  up,  and  after  being 
guided  for  some  distance  by  the  trunk  of  a  hollow 
tree,  it  leaped  out  and  went  laughing  away  to  the 
lake.  I  was  looked  for,  and  the  porch  was  occupied 
with  our  good  friend  and  one  or  two  of  his  sturdy 
sons,  with  several  watch-dogs ;  a  face  as  black  as 
Egypt,  the  meanwhile,  peering  out  the  little  cabin 
behind  and  looking  for  my  arrival.  The  moment  ] 
hove  in  sight,  every  dog  leaped  toward  me  with  an 
uproarious  bark,  all  arose,  and  with  shouts  of  "  Get 
out,"  I  was  cordially  welcomed  to  this,  one  of  the 
oldest  preaching-places  in  the  region,  known  in  that 
day  as  "  Below  the  swamp."  "  Come,  light,"  was 
the  cheering  greeting,  and  I  was  soon  seated  in  the 
porch,  my  horse  cared  for,  in  the  enjoyment  of  all 
those  pleasures  which  a  whole-hearted  welcome, 
given  to  one  on  the  pathway  of  duty,  imparts.  I 
was  quickly  told  that  I  was  to  be  met  there  by  a  fel- 
low-itinerant, (and  it  was  a  rare  thing  in  those  days 
and  regions  for  one  Methodist  preacher  to  be  favored 
with  the  society  and  assistance  of  another ;)  that  they 
had  made  arrangements  for  services  that  afternoon 
and  in  the  evening ;  that  my  coming  had  been  care- 
fully made  known  for  a  distance  of  many  miles,  and 
that  to-morrow  we  must  have  a  love-feast,  and  as 
many  more  sermons  as  we  were  able  to  preach, 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  265 

Sister  S.  exclaiming  at  the  same  time,  that  "  as  I  was 
to  come  to  see  them  so  mighty  few  times,  and  as  that 
was  the  first  time,  they  were  a-going  to  try  and  have 
a  good  time."  In  the  meantime,  I  looked  about  me, 
and  saw  that  the  action  had  been  suited  to  the  words, 
and  that  ample  preparation  had  been  made  for  this 
spiritual  festival  in  the  way  of  mending  superannua- 
ted benches,  and  also  the  making  of  several  new  ones. 
I  also  noticed,  that  in  addition  to  the  home-made 
bedsteads,  generally  constructed  from  fence-rails,  two 
additional  ones  had  been  put  up  by  the  insertion  of 
poles  in  the  cracks  of  the  cabin,  supported  at  the  op- 
posite end  with  dogwood  forks,  the  whole  done  in  the 
highest  style  of  the  art,  and  wearing  an  air  of  invit- 
ing neatness.  For  be  it  known  here,  to  you  people 
of  parlors  and  pianos,  of  sitting-rooms,  dormitories, 
carpeted  and  upholstered  churches,  that  all  this  para- 
phernalia of  civilization  would  have  been  as  much  of 
a  mystery  to  the  audience  that  assembled  at  Brother 
S's.  as  the  furniture  of  Solomon's  Temple,  or  the  re- 
cently exhumed  wonders  of  old  Nineveh ;  and  that 
the  presence  of  beds,  such  as  described,  were  but  lit- 
tle in  the  way  in  a  log-cabm  audienoe-room,  as  the 
ladies  generally,  most  economically,  in  the  case  of  a 
crowd,  occupied  every  inch  of  their  surface.  Know- 
ing this  to  be  the  case,  I  looked  to  the  newly-con- 
structed bedsteads  with  some  apprehension,  but  said 
nothing. 


266  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

By  this  time  the  audience  had*  commenced  to 
assemble.  In  Indian  file,  rudely  mounted,  with 
hunting-shirt,  coon-skin  caps,  and  often  with  rifle 
on  the  shoulder,  wife  behind  and  child  before,  they 
came  like  doves  to  the  windows.  Sister  S.  smiled 
in  delight.  Brother  S.  was  all  politeness  by  shout- 
ing as  loud  as  a  sea  captain,  "  Gome,  light,  neighbor 
B."  "  "What  do  you  sit  there  for,  Brother  C.  ?  ride 
up  to  the  porch  here ;"  when  all  at  once,  two  braces 
of  ivory  set  in  ebony,  appeared  in  the  person  of 
Aunt  Susan  and  Uncle  Billy  from  the  Liliputian 
cabin  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  a  sufficient  explana- 
tion of  its  use.  Bench  after  bench  was  stowed  in 
the  receiving  room,  hall,  and  porch.  Strange  steeds 
meeting  from  afar,  neighed  either  defiance  or  wel- 
come. Dogs,  of  which  there  were  nearly  as  many 
as  people,  barked  or  growled.  Now  and  then  a 
child  would  cry,  and  now  a  loud,  jovial  laugh 
from  a  rotund  matron,  as  she  met  a  sister  spirit, 
and  they  both  drew  out  cob-pipes  with  cane  tubes, 
for  a  friendly  smoke,  and  thus  all  was  activity; 
joy  and  expectation  ruled  the  hour.  The  preacher 
was  looked  t&  by  many  .as  a  rara  avis.  Few  ven- 
tured to  obtrude  their  acquaintance  upon  him, 
but  assisted  by  Brother  S.  and  Sister  S.,  he  took 
all  by  the  hand,  and  kissed  all  the  babies  whom 
he  presumed  it  would  not  frighten  into  a  scream; 
but  in  exercising  his  caution  in  this  direction,  con- 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  267 

• 

fesses  to  the  weakness  of  being  govjerned  much  by 
appearances.  The  audience  increases,  and  my  col- 
league has  arrived.  The  time  of  service  has  arrived 
also.  Order  is  restored  in  Warsaw,  and  the  voice  of 
praise  rings  out  from  this  extemporized  temple  in 
this  vast  wilderness,  hallowing  the  Gothic  forest 
aisles.  It  is  something  to  sing  or  hear  sung  for  the 
first  time,  at  these  outposts  of  civilization,  some  of 
those  good  old  hymns  embalmed  in  immortality, 
such  as, 

"Come,  thou  Fount  of  every  blessing;" 

"  Jesus,  my  all,  to  heaven  is  gone ;" 

"  O  for  a  thousand  tongues  to  sing,"  etc. 

It  has  since  fallen  to  my  lot  to  stand  in  the  pulpits 
of  sundry  "of  our  city  edifices,  sacred  to  eternity, 
appropriately  ornamented  with  every  mechanical 
beauty  that  might  gratify  the  taste  and  quicken 
the  esthetics  of  a  people,  and  to  hear  the  voice 
of  the  congregation  blend  with  the  solemn  discourse 
of  the  organ,  and  I  have  felt  at  home.  But  believe 
me,  dear  reader,  when  I  say  that  I  never  felt  to 
tread  holier  ground,  never  felt  more  magnified  by 
my  holy  office,  than  did  I  feel  that  day  at  Brother 
S.'s.  Nor  was  that  the  only  time  that  a  gush  of 
gladness  spouting  from  my  heart,  blended  with  a 
sense  of  un worthiness  to  enjoy  the  privilege  of 
seeking  after  just  such  lost  sheep  in  the  wilderness 


268  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

« 

as  these.  In  preaching,  I  had  great  liberty  and 
profound  attention,  accompanied  by  an  occasional 
sob  and  groan,  and  emphatic  amens  from  my  assist- 
ants and  the  members  of  the  small  class  there  organ- 
ized. It  would  seem,  however,  that  I  was  too  didac- 
tic and  wanting  in  the  powers  of  exhortation,  for 
when  my  brother,  an  employe*  under  the  elder, 
and  so  limited  in  a  knowledge  of  letters  that  he 
could  not  read  an  unfamiliar  hymn  correctly,  arose, 
he  soon  distanced  me,  quite,  in  his  power  over  the 
audience.  And  though  he  exhorted  nearly  as  long 
as  I  preached,  he  never  seemed  to  leave  the  theme 
of  "dying  a  shouting,"  "going  to  Jesus,"  and  "meet- 
ing our  relatives  in  glory."  The  policy  of  Provi- 
dence in  preacher-making  in  the  history  of  Method- 
ism has  always  been,  to  choose  some  men  on  a 
perfect  level  with  the  people  with  whom  they 
were  to  labor,  in  intellectual  resources  and  power. 
Such  men  have  had  their  mission,  and  been  the 
primum  mobile  of  a  pioneering  Methodism.  I  will 
here  fling  a  green  wreath  to  their  memories,  as  they 
have  beat  me  in  preaching  very  often,  if  discourses 
are  to  be  judged  of  by  present  effects  upon  the 
audience.  Brother  Neal  was  one  of  these,  and  the 
road  to  his  heart,  was  that  which  led  to  the  hearts 
of  his  neighbors.  Though  the  most  contented  peo- 
ple with  this  earth  that  we  ever  saw,  the  idea  of 
getting  to  such  a  heaven,  in  such  a  way,  seemed 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  269 

absolutely  irresistible  in  its  fascinations.  His  word 
was  with  power.  Some  screamed,  another  hooted, 
a  third  fell,  a  few  seemed  affrighted,  while  a  few 
others,  initiated  into  such  scenes,  shouted  in  true 
orthodox  style.  And  no  one  did  this  matter  up 
better  than  did  Aunt  Susa,  who  had  taken  her 
place  in  the  back  end  of  the  hall.  She  flew  up 
and  down,  straight  and  steady  as  a  shuttle  in  a 
weaver's  loom,  with  the  word  "Glory"  warbling 
from  her  lips,  while  Uncle  Billy  sat  shaking  and 
grinning  in  inexpressible  delight  through  his  tears. 
Among  the  extemporized  bedsteads,  things  did  not 
fare  so  well.  My  anticipated  fears  were  fully  real- 
ized. Those  upon  them  leaping  to  their  feet,  and 
some  of  them  shouting  for  joy  in  a  manner  that 
would  have  minded  Peter  at  Pentecost  of  the  opulent 
announcements  of  prophecy,,  first  one  came  down 
with  a  crash,  which  causing  the  occupants  of  the  oth- 
er simultaneously  to  make  a  move  toward  evacua- 
tion, it  also  gave  way,  and  fat  women  and  babies — 
there  were  no  lean  ones  there — tumbled  flat  upon  the 
puncheon  floor  with  a  rattle  and  a  crash.  The  tide 
of  devotion,  however,  ebbed  not  for  a  moment,  and 
my  good  brother  continued  to  expatiate  upon  his 
theme,  always  so  welcome  to  the  heart,  .here,  con- 
scious of  its  absence  from  home,  and  which  has  been 
so  beautifully  described  by  the  rainbow-tinted  pen  of 
the  poet: 


270  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

"  O,  the  joys  that  are  there,  mortal  eye  hath  not  seen ! 
O,  the  songs  they  sing  there,  with  hosannas  between! 
O,  the  thrice-blessed  song  of  the  Lamb  and  of  Moses ! 
O,  brightness  on  brightness,  the  pearl-gate  uncloses! 
O,  white  wings  of  angels!    O,  fields  white  with  roses! 
0,  white  teats  of  peace,  where  the  rapt  soul  reposes ! 
O,  the  waters  so  still,  and  the  pastures  so  green!" 

He  sat  down  exhausted.  The  audience  sung,  and  I 
waited  for  a  lull  in  the  extravagant  height  of  feeling 
to  which  they  had  been  carried,  to  announce  the 
future  order  of  the  day,  and  to  bring  on  the  benedic- 
tion. By  suffering  everything  to  abide  its  time,  all 
came  around  right,  and  after  ascertaining  that  one' 
poor  backslider  had  been  reclaimed,  two  or  three 
sinners  pricked  in  the  heart,  we  paused  for  bodily  re- 
freshment, and  for  the  resumption  of  services  in  the 
evening. 

Some  thirty  of  the  -audience,  which  consisted  of 
about  forty,  tarried  in  response  to  the  urgent  and 
hospitable  invitation  of  Brother  S.  Backwoods  din- 
ners I  have  already  described,  and  as  to  the  service 
of  the  evening  and  those  of  the  following  day,  they 
were  as  the  one  just  described,  only  more  abundant. 
I  rejoiced  exceedingly  on  Sabbath  morning,  to  see  in 
the  audience  my  kind  host  and  hostess,  introduced  to 
the  reader  in  the  foregoing  chapter.  But  my  joy 
was  heightened  into  ecstasy,  when,  under  the  sermon, 
I  saw  both  bend  their  heads  like  a  willow  bough  and 
weep  like  whipped  children.  Prevailing  upon  the 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  271 

husband  to  suffer  his  wife  to  stay  on  Sabbath  even- 
ing, I  saw  her  happily  converted  at  the  anxious-seat, 
and  her  first  shout  was,  "  Glory  to  the  Christ  of  the 
Bible !" 

Monday  morning  came,  and  in  counting  up  the 
results  of  the  meeting,  we  found  that  about  one 
third  of  our  audience  had  been  converted,  doubling 
the  number  of  the  small  class  at  this  point.  All 
passed  to  their  homes,  apparently  delighted  and 
solemnized  by  the  occasion,  and  I  was  alone  with 
our  kind  brother  and  sister  and  family,  and  though 
wearied,  great  peace  was  my  portion,  wondering  at 
the  great  things  the  Lord  had  done  for  us.  The  sky 
was  cloudless,  and  the  autumnal  sunlight  seemed 
greatly  increased  in  mellowness,  and  nature's  breath 
seemed  ambrosial  with  odors  from  the  better  land. 
My  ears  still  seemed  to  retain  the  untaught  war- 
blings  of  the  notes  of  revival  song,  and  while,  as  I 
walked  out  in  the  forest  shade,  the  loosened  leaf 
came  slowly  eddying  down  at  my  feet,  reminding 
me  of  man's  autumn  and  destiny,  the  winds  the 
meanwhile  gently  moaning  through  ^e  tops  of 
the  cypress,  I  seemed  in  rapt  communion  with  two 
worlds,  and  patiently  resigned  to  live  at  once  in 
either,  when  suddenly  I  was  reminded  of  the  snake 
in  Eden,  by  a  most  hideous  and  deadly-fanged  one 
at  my  feet.  I  started  suddenly  back,  and  armed 
myself  for  the  duty  of  bruising  his  head.  ID 


272  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

returning  to  the  house,  I  related  my  adventure  to 
Brother  and  Sister  S.,  with  blank  cheek  and  trem- 
bling nerve,  Uncle  Billy  peeping  in  at  the  door  at 
the  same  time,  the  impertinent  fellow,  chuckling  over 
my  fears.  "  Why,"  said  I,  "Uncle  Billy,  what  do 
you  laugh  for?"  Assured  by  my  familiarity,  he 
snatched  the  fragment  of  what  had  once  been  a  hat 
from  his  woolly  pate,  and  exclaimed,  "  Why,  Massa 
Watson,  I  laughs  at  you  bein'  so  'stonished  of  killin' 
one  snake  of  a  mornin',  when  sometimes  I  has  to  kill 
a  half  a  dozen."  I  shuddered  from  top  to  toe,  ex- 
claiming, "  Snaky  country  this,  Uncle  Billy."  "Wall, 
Brudder  W.,  dat  is,  Massa  Watson,"  advancing  two 
steps  further  into  the  room,  "  if  you  and  massa  dare, 
will  take  a  ride  wid  me  in  my  perogue,  on  de  lake 
down  dar,  to-morrow,  de  way  I  show  you  snakes  be  a 
caution ;  dat  sartin."  I  immediately  struck  with  Uncle 
Billy  for  a  ride  with  him  into  snakedom  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  the  incidents  of  which  journey,  con- 
stituting, as  they  do,  emphatically,  a  "  snake"  story, 
with  the  rare  quality  of  being  a  true  one,  I  must 
reserve  for  sgiother  brief  chapter. 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  278 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  the  foregoing  chapter,  the  reader  has  had  a 
glance  at  the  features  of  an  old-fashioned  "  two-days' 
meeting,"  in  this  early  day,  at  these  out-posts.  Two 
days'  rest  to  the  preacher  were  generally  found 
necessary  following  such  an  effort.  Tuesday  morning 
had  arrived,  my  weariness  was  relieved,  and  I  was 
prepared  to  join  "  Uncle  Billy  "  on  an  adventure  into 
the  swamp  to  see  its  "lions,"  and  especially  its  snakes. 
It  is  yet  early  in  the  morning,  however,  and  the  cold 
rain  of  a  few  nights  since  renders  it  necessary  that  we 
wait  until  the  hot  hours  of  the  forenoon.  I  will  seek 
a  brief  interview  with  Aunt  Susa,  in  her  little  cabin. 

"  Good  morning,  Aunt  Susa,"  said  I,  as  I  stepped 
into  her  quarters. 

t"Why,  good  mornin',  Massa  "Watson:  laws  o* 
marcy,  dis  no  place  for  de  likes  o'  you.'" 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  Aunt  Susa,  haveo  you  some 
places  here  too  good  for  me  ?"  and  saying  this,  I 
advanced  toward  a  little  mantle-shelf  and  seized 
Susa's  pipe,  together  with  some  nice  tobacco  leaves 
of  her  own  raising,  and  was  preparing  to  regale  my- 
self a  little,  when  she  flew  toward  me,  exclaiming : 

"  Massa,  you  no  shall  smoke  wid  dat  pipe  ;  it  no 


274     .        INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

go  in  your  mouf  arter  havin'  been  in  dis  chi.d'a 
dirty  mouf,  dat  sarjtin.  Here  be  a  new  pipe,  an'  a 
mighty  good  un,  too ;  an'  like  to  the  colt,  de  foal  ob 
an  ass,  we  read  ob,  massa,  which  no  one  neber  ride 
afore,  no  one  has  eber  smoked  in  it."  And  here  she 
commenced  filling  it  up  as  I  threw  myself  into  the 
rude  resemblance  of  a  chair. 

"  Susa,"  said  I,  "  where  did  you  learn  to  quote 
Scripture  ?" 

"  Why,  massa,  blessed  be  your  lips,  I  larn  much 
from  de  preachers ;  but  dar,  massa,  look  dar,  by 
de  side  ob  ye !"  when,  turning  around,  my  delighted 
eyes  rested  upon  a  well-soiled,  well-thumbed,  old- 
fashioned  Bible,  that  had  recently  received  an  addi- 
tional covering  of  buckskin. 

"  Susa,"  said  I,  "  where  did  you  get  this  ?" 

"I  brings  it  from  old  Tennessee,"  said  she,  "twenty 
years  ago ;"  saying  which,  she  handed  me  the  new 
pipe,  on  the  top  of  which  she  had  balanced  a  coal 
from  the  hearth.  Inhaling  a  whiff  or  two,  said  I : 

"  Susa,  can  you  read  ?" 

"  Yes,  massa,  blessed  be'God,  I  reads  mighty  well 
for  de  likes  ob  me ;  do  de  hard  words  are  a  great 
bother — some  ob  which  I  skips ;  but  I  hab  read  dat 
Bible  dar  a  mighty  heap  ;  read  it  from  de  apostle 
Solomon  all  de  way  to  the  prophet  Saul ; ,  but  reads 
de  most  in  dat  part  whar  Jesus  be  on  de  earth,  it 
beiii'  de  most  easy." 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  276 

"  Can  Uncle  Billy  read?"!  asked. 

"  No ;  he  say  he  too  old  to  larn,  now  ;  But  he  set 
here  an'  smoke  ob  nights,  an'  listen  mighty  close  to 
what  I  reads.  He  tinks  it  be  enough  for  I  to  know 
how  to  read." 

"  Who  learned  you  to  read,  Susa  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  dat  be  a  funny  question,  kase  if  I  tell 
you,  I  fear  you  won't  believe  me,  nohow." 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  I,  "  Susa,  I  will  believe  you." 

"  Well,  den,  I  tell  ye  it  was  de  angels.  I  no  know 
how  to  read,  an'  I  lays  an'  cries  an'  prays  about  it  ob 
nights ;  I  den  goes  to  sleep  an'  dreams  about  it,  an' 
most  ebery  night  for  a  year  I  prays  an'  cries  an' 
takes  up  my  Bible,  when  one  night  it  seem  as  if  an 
angel  come  down,  an'  I  don't  know  whether  I  'wake 
or  'sleep,  I  sees  all  de  letters  in  de  book,  an'  it  say  to 
me,  '  Dis  be  a,  an'  dat  b,  an'  dat  c,'  an'  so  on ;  an' 
arter  a  little  while  I  gits  up,  I  opens  my  Bible,  when 
I  knows  most  ebery  letter.  Next  morning,  young 
Massa  Tom,  who  know'd  how  to  read,  come  in  here 
to  run  bullets,  when  I  axed  him,  says  I,  'Tom,  does 
you  call  dese  letters  dis  ?' "  '  Why,  yes,'  says  he,  '  you 
old  fool,  you.'  *  Now,'  says  I,  '  Tom,  you'll  want 
some  ob  my  good  bacca  soon,  an'  if  you  'buse  me 
dat  way  you  no  get  it.'  '  Well,'  says  he,  '  Aunt  Sue, 
if  you'll  run  my  bullets  for  me  dis  mornin',  I'll 
come  in  here  to-night  an'  show  you  a  heap  about 

readin'.'    So  I  run  Tom's  bullets,  and  he  comes  at 

18 


276  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

night,  an'  I  larns  mightily.  But  Tom  wouldn't  larn 
me  long,  anyhow.  So  I  told  him  dat  I  find  him  in 
bacca  an'  run  his  bullets  always,  if  he  larn  me  a 
little  now  an'  den.  ,"Well,  Tom  did ;  an'  you  see  dat 
it  was  de  angel  fust,  an'  Tom  next,  dat  start  me  on  in 
readin'.  An'  O !  what  a  blessed  ting  it  is  ;  I  would 
rather  die  dan  gib  up  my  Bible;  an'  I'se  been  a 
readin'  dis  mornin' ;  but  before  I  say  dat,  I  tell  you 
again  I  neber  should  read  a  hooter  but  for  dat 
angel." 

Here  I  was  for  a  moment  profoundly  grave  at  the 
mysteries  of  the  imagination;  and  then  smiling  at" 
the  garrulous  old  saint's  credulity,  said  I : 

"  Susa,  what  is  that  you  have  been  reading  this 
morning  ?" 

"  Why,  as  I  was  sayin',  I  was  readin'  in  Ge-nee-sis 
about  dat  sarpint  dat  was  more  sutty  dan  de  oder 
cattle  ob  de  field,  which  I  spose  mean  dat  he  be 
brack,  kase  he  came  from  dat  place  whar  de  wicked 
go  dat  burn  all  de  while  wid  fire  an'  brimstone." 

Here  I  smiled  again,  over  this  new  exegesis,  and 
said : 

"  Aunt,  what  did  you  read  about  the  old  serpent 
for  this  morning  ?" 

"  O,  I  hardly  knows  ;  I  guess  kase  Uncle  Billy  tell 
me  you  gwine  snake  huntin'  to-day,  an'  kase  as  how 
it  say  de  sons  ob  de  woman  shall  bruise  dar  heads." 

Here  I  paused  to  simplify  the  theology  of  this 


«,      INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  277 

blessed  passage,  which  I  feared  this  simple  saint  had 
understood  too  literally,  when  she  exclaimed  that  she 
"  had  often  kind  ob  thought  dat !"  and  that  Jesus  to 
her  "  was  de  sweetest  name  under  de  sun ;"  and  that 
she  loved  to  sing, 

"  Jesus,  my  all,  to  heaven  is  gone." 

A  stave  of  which,  with  dampened  eyes,  she  had 
already  struck  up,  when  Uncle  Billy's  arrival  an- 
nounced all  things  in  readiness  for  our  tour  in  the 
swamp. 

1  Accompanied  by  young  Massa  Tom,  and  the  cam- 
paign headed  by  Uncle  Billy,  each  with  a  rifle  on 
the  shoulder,  we  were  soon  at  the  edge  of  the  lake, 
or  morass,  to  which  reference  has  been  made.  Fol- 
lowing along  its  low  shore  some  half  a  mile,  my 
nerves  were  gradually  schooled  to  the  test  to  which 
they  were  to  be  subjected  by  frequently  meeting 
with  his  snakeship,  that  literally  swarm  in  some 
parts  of  these  morasses.  It  is  not  the  ordinaiy  water 
snake,  but  a  lazy,  sluggish,  and  arrow-mouthed, 
poisonous  reptile,  called  fry  the  swampers  the  "  moc- 
casin-mouthed snake."  He  executes  his  bite  but 
clumsily,  which  greatly  lessens  the  danger  of  his 
presence,  and  he  seldom  leaves  the  shores  of  these 
unsightly  marshes  but  a  few  yards ;  another  most 
fortunate  circumstance ;  and  in  the  season  of  the 
year  already  referred  to,  they  seem  to  be  congrega- 


278  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

ting  for  winter-quarters,  which  may  account  some- 
what for  what  we  shall  in  a  moment  detail.  The 
bite  of  this  reptile  is  deadly,  quite  as  much  so  as  that 
of  the  rattlesnake  or  copperhead.  I  was  informed 
that  swine  very  readily  devour  them,  which  item  of 
information  I  should  have  felt  quite  as  well  not  to 
have  received,  as  I  had  been  enjoying  at  Brother 
S.'s  the  luxury  of  some,  well-smoked  side  bacon, 
along  with  some  krout  and  corn  dodger.  At  the 
next  meal  I  felt  my  preference  for  venison'  very 
much  to  predominate.  "We  soon  arrived  at  Billy's 
canoe,  and  in  the  center  of  the  rocking  thing  I  was 
seated,  with  Uncle  Billy  and  Massa  Tom  in  either 
end.  Two  paddles  soon  sent  us  some  distance  out 
into  the  muddy  and  shallow  waters,  and  amid  the 
huge  trunks  of  fallen  trees  and  conical  tussocks 
which  constitute  the  musk-rat's  home.  Snake  after 
snake  soon  began  to  make  its  appearance  coiled 
upon  almost  every  square  inch  of  surface.  On  a 
single  log  I  counted  ten,  ourselves  not  more  than 
ten  feet  from  them.  I  shuddered,  and  armed  with  a 
big  club,  was  constantly  assuming  attitudes  of  defense, 
while  Uncle  Billy  shook  his  burly  sides  in  imperti- 
nent laughter,  and  Massa  Tom  amused  himself  by 
seeing  how  many  decapitations  he  could  make  by  a 
given  number  of  shots.  On  we  paddled,  and  more 
numerous  became  the  snakes.  Occasionally  they 
splashed  about  the  sides  of  our  bobbing  nautilus; 


INCIDENTS    IN  .ITINERANCY..  279 

and  now,  as  we  passed  under  the  low  limb  of  a  tree, 
Billy  would  knock  them  off  with  his  paddle  almost 
into  the  canoe.  I  remonstrated,  pleaded,  hallooed, 
but  could  procure  no  retreat.  Tom  went  on  with  his 
snake  shooting;  Uncle  Billy  paddled  us  further  and 
further  into  this  pandemonium,  when  the  horrible 
idea  took  possession  of  my  mind  that  should  we  tip 
over,  (an  event  by  no  means  improbable,)  what  posi- 
tion could  be  conceived  of  more  horrible  than  thus  to 
be  tumbled  into  the  very  toils  of  a  thousand  detesta- 
ble reptiles,  amid  mud  and  quicksands !  From  en- 
"  treating  I  became  peremptory,  and  Uncle  Billy 
paused.  When  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  detesta- 
ble "  varmints,"  we  counted  all  that  were  visible.  J 
counted  one  hundred  and  fifty  snakes,  the  furthest  of 
which  was  not  fifty  feet  from  me.  When  thoroughly 
satisfied  that  what  Uncle  Billy  had  said  about  "  de 
way  he  would  show  me  snakes  was  a  caution,  dat 
sartin,"  was  no  exaggeration,  we  returned  to  the 
shore  and  to  our  home. 

With  Tom  and  Uncle  Billy  the  sight  was  common- 
place. Upon  my  mind  it  had  a  far  different  effect. 
It  was  the  reality  of  more  than  I  had  ever  read  or 
dreamed  about  horrible  dens  of  serpents,  whole  regions 
now  and  then  strewed  with  rattlesnakes,  etc.  I  said 
little  more  than  to  remark  that  "it  was  a  mighty 
snaky  country  there,"  at  which  Uncle  Billy  laughed. 
I  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  in  reading  my  Bible.  But 


280  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

with  me,  as  with  Aunt  Susan,  the  subject  of 
"sarpints"  became  rather  obtrusive.  But  if  my 
waking  thoughts  were  of  snakes,  my  dreaming  ones 

• 

that  night  greatly  exaggerated  the  whole  matter. 
My  sleep  was  as  much  interrupted  as  if  I  had  been 
the  doomed  Medusa.  The  want  of  sleep  steadied  my 
nerves  toward  morning,  so  that  sweet  sleep,  oblivious, 
triumphed  for  a  refreshing  season.  I  awoke  at  an 
hour  rather  late,  and  if  my  first  thoughts  were  not 
of  "sarpints,"  my  earliest  ones,  nolens  volens,  cer- 
tainly were.  Opening  my  eyes,  what  should  I  see 
directly  over  my  bed,  protruding  from  a  knot-hole  in 
one  of  the  rough  logs,  but  the  head  of  a  detestable 
snake.  At  first  I  thought  I  dreamed,  and  it  could 
not  be  a  reality,  when,  watching  my  loathsome 
visitor  for  an  instant,  I  saw  the  head  turn,  and 
the  forked  tongue  protrude,  but  I  saw  no  more. 
In  an  instant  I  was  on  the  floor,  and  seizing  the 
most  indispensable  of  my  wardrobe,  I  retreated  to 
the  hall  with  a  scrpam,  that  secured  the  anxious 
presence  of  Susa  in  a  trice.  I  told  her  what  I  had 
witnessed,  and  pointed  to  the  knot-hole  over  my  bed, 
not  doubting  but  there  were  one  or  two  others  in  my 
bed,  if  she  would  but  look.  At  that  moment  the 
head  of  a  little  harmless  reptile,  with  a  white  ring 
about  its  neck,  again  made  free  ^  to  take  observ- 
ation from  the  knot-hole.  As  we  were  joined  by 
one  and  another  of  the  members  of  the  family,  old 


INCIDENTS    IN"    ITINERANCY.  281 

» 

Aunt  Susa's  laugh,  which  had  Commenced  with 
the  fiist  sight  of  the  cause  of  my  fears,  became  per- 
fectly obstreperous.  * 

"  Why,  massa,  dat  no  more'n  a  little  bit  ob  a  milk 
snake,  an'  he  no  more  bite  dan  a  worm.  Dey  come 
back  ob  de  house  here  to  de  spring-house  to  steal  my 
milk,  an'  I  kills  one  ebery  now  an'  den,  an'  dey  does 
climb  up  de  corners  ob  de  house,  for  I  seed  one 
dar  toder  day,  an'  struck  it  wid  my  broom.  I  spose 
dat  log  hollow,  an'  he  creep  in  dar.  But  if  it  war 
full  ob  such  snakes  dar  be  no  danger,  dat  sartin." 
•  Taking  it  thus  coolly,  and  with  such  provoking 
sympathy  for  my  fears,  Aunt  Susa  retired  to  com- 
plete her  breakfast,  when,  as  she  retired,  I  sent  this 
rebuke  after  her :  said  I,  "  Aunt  Susan,  I  hope  that 
snake  will  get  into  your  bed  to-night,  that  we 
may  see  how  easily  you  will  be  frightened,"  when, 
remembering  my  lecture  in  the  morning,  she  wittily 
retorted : 

"  Preachers  dat  come  into  dese  woods  to  bruise  de 

• 

head  ob  dat  old  sarpint,  de  debil,  musn't  be  fright- 
ened into  a  fit  at  de  sight  ob  a  milk  snake." 

There  was  much  more  in  Aunt  Susa's  retort  than 
she  herself  comprehended.  It  was.  fruitfully  sugges- 
tive. Yes,  thought  I,  the  missionary  of  these  woods 
must  not  be  a  man  of  starch  and  buckram,  of  taper 
fingers  and  tender  stomach,  kid  gloves  and  broad- 
cloth, velvet  slippers  and  spotless  linen.  Here,  the 


282  INCIDENTS    IN   ITINERANCY. 

» 

stalwart  form,  the  brawny  fist,  the  hunting-shirt, 
with  Bible  and  Discipline  under  one  arm,  and  rifle 
on  the  other,  are  the  best  representatives  of  the 
missionary.  Like  John  in  the  wilderness,  he  must 
wear  what  the  people  wear,  and  eat  what  the  people 
eat,  asking  no  questions.  Yes,  Aunt  Susan,  he  must 
not  be  afraid  of  snakes.  If  gifted  in  the  tact  of 
his  holy  calling,  his  education  and  refinement  will 
only  aid  him  to  adapt  himself  to  these  ruder  paths  of 
life,  and  cause  him  to  be  a  guide,  light,  and  example 
upon  them.  But  if  wanting  in  this  tact,  his  timidity, 
and,  in  some  respects,  his  manifested  superiority,  will 
not  be  appreciated.  "What  would  be  natural  in 
another  latitude  would  here  be  prudery.  What 
would  be  becoming  in  another  place,  would  here  be 
ridiculous ;  and  more  than  one  would  exclaim,  with 
Aunt  Susan,  "Preachers  dot  come  into  dese  woods  to 
Jyruise  de  head  ob  dot  old  sarpint,  de  debil,  musn't  be 
frightened  into  a  Jit  at  de  sight  ob  a  milk  snake  /" 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  288 


CHAPTEK  VH. 

ONE  delinquency  has  occurred  in  my  ministerial 
life,  so  sad  and  touching,  that  the  remembrance 
thereof  is  always  painful  and  humiliating.  For  the 
sake  of  the  example,  I  cannot  forbear  to  record  ft. 
God  has  forgiven  me,  but  I  never  have  forgiven 
myself.  Whenever  busy  memory,  in  retracing  my 
past  steps,  comes  to  this  event,  I  have  always  felt  an 
involuntary  shudder,  and  rush  to  forgetfulness  for 
relief,  or  to  the  retrospection  of  events  more  pleas- 
ing. Reader,  did  you  ever  unwittingly  do  a. thing 
that  so  hurt  your  conscience,  as  to  leave  ever  after  a 
wound  in  the  heart,  which,  like  the  poor  woman's 
issue,  was  incurable,  but  by  the  merciful  touch  of 
Omnipotence  ?  How  much  like  the  worm  that  dieth 
not,  is  this.  I  have  called  my  sin,  which  I  cannot 
forgive,  a  delinquency.  In  moral  turpitude,  and  in 
justice  to. myself,  I  know  not  that  I  have  a  right  to 
use  a  harsher  epithet. 

I  intended  no  harm,  but  touching  injury  ensued. 
I  had  been  pledged  to  guard  against  that  injury. 
The  time  was  fixed,  but  under  a  slight  temptation,  I 
concluded  to  choose  my  own  time.  I  failed  to  be 
"  instant  in  season."  I  was  junior  preacher  on  Yeva 


284  INCIDENTS    IN    IT  INEKANC  Y. 

Circuit,  Southeast  Indiana.  It  was  a  four  weeks'  cir- 
cuit, and  I  alternated  with  my  venerable  colleague, 
the  Rev.  James  Jones,  in  preaching  every  two  weeks, 
in  the  pretty  little  village  of  Rising  Sun,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Ohio  River.  It  was  a  village  of  some 
six  hundred  inhabitants,  and  though  so  inconsidera- 
ble in  size,  was  our  metropolitan  appointment.  To 
me  it  was  a  terror.  In  my  extreme  youth  and 
gtnooth-facedness,  the  idea  of  preaching  where  I 
might  have  lawyers  and  doctors,  and  "the  village 
elite,  whom  I  knew,  or,  at  least,  I  fancied  that  they 
knew  so  much  more  than  myself,  was  an  unconquer- 
able source  of  embarrassment,  which  often  became 
absolutely  suffocating.  I  would  say  to  myself  in 
weeping  and  mortification,  I  can  never  preach  in 
Rising  Sun.  I  knew  I  knew  but  little.  A  most 
profitable  lesson  which  I  had  just  learned,  and  which 
some  of  the  youthful  cloth  learn  but  quite  too  late. 
How  stultifying  to  genius  is  embarrassment.  There 
are  many  who  will  read  these  lines  with  a  smile,  to 
think  how  they  have  struggled  with  it  as  with  the 
nightmare.  They  will  remember  the  pulpits  and 
places  in  which  they  could  never  be  themselves.  In 
the  interior,  ar-d  among  the  log-cabins,  where  my 
whole  itinerant  career  had  been  spent,  and  where  all 
was  confidence  in  the  boy-preacher,  by  a  simple- 
hearted  peasantry,  I  was  always  waxing  eloquent, 
that  is  magniloquent,  at  least,  to  the  satisfaction  of 


INCIDENTS  IN  ITINERANCY.      285 

myself,  and  a  few  communicative  admirers.  In  deep 
mortification,  have  I  often  left  the  village  pulpit  in 
the  little  oblong  brick  church  that  stood  west  of  the 
rillage,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  knowing  that  I  had 
treated  the  people  who  had  assembled  to  hear,  with 
a  mere  bundle  of  words  poorly  chosen,  and  confused- 
ly compounded,  and  whose  ideas  were  in  proportion 
to  them,  as  three  grains  of  wheat  to  as  many  bushels 
of  chaff.  The  failures  in  Rising  Sun  saddened  m£, 
and  made  *me  sigh  for  the  ruder  interior ;  and  I 
was  wont  to  keep  out  of  the  place,  the  genius 
of  which  was  so  unpropitious,  as  long  as  I  could. 
Six  miles  west,  at  "Wood's  school-house,  so  called 
from  the  excellent  brother  residing  in  its  immediate 
vicinity,  and  who  kept  a  Methodist  preacher's  honffc 
indeed,  I  had  a  most  favorite  appointment.  Here  I 
always  had  great  liberty,  as  was  flatteringly  attested 
by  the  frequent  reference  made  to  the  sermon  in  the 
class-meeting  that  followed.  The  preacher  preached 
and  met  class  in  those  days.  I  have  said  the  little 
chapel  at  Rising  Sun  stood  upon  the  hill-side,  and 
this  shall  lead  me  to  mention  some  physical  features 
of  the  banks  of  the  lovely  Ohio,  quite  peculiar.  On 
one  side  its  waters  generally  lave  the  spurs  of  hills, 
while  on  the  opposite  side  the  land  is  generally 
level,  called  "  bottom-land."  The  two  sides  of  the 
river  rarely  present  the  same  scene. 

The  spirit  of  beauty  4ias  its  laws,  and  one  is,  it  ever 


286  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

seeks  variety.  Cut  as  it  were  into  promontories  by 
wild  and  eccentric  creeks,  which  drain  the  interior, 
the  appearance  of  these  hills  is  wild  and  picturesque, 
and  they  often  rise  into  the  respectability  of  mount- 
ains. Granite  cliffs  sometimes  crop  out  with  their 
sides  shaggy  with  the  gray  moss  of  ages,  filling  the 
mind  with  the  idea  of  Alpine  sublimity,  of  mysteri- 
ous caverns,  hermitage,  and  the  like.  What  a  mys- 
terious inspiration  always  hangs  like  a  Tabor  vision 
around  the  magnificence  of  mountain*  scenery.  1 
cannot  analyze  it,  but  I  feel  it,  and  feel  that  it  is  a 
living  entity,  the  soul  of  poetry.  So  have  I  often 
mused  on  the  hill  and  mountain  scenery  of  the  Ohio. 
Mountains,  however,  are  scarce,  and  while  the  hills 
^ush  themselves  out  in  every  conceivable  shape, 
they  are  covered  from  the  water's  edge  to  their 
summits  with  a  luxuriant  growth  of  vegetation.  Of 
trees,  the  variety  is  great.  Here,  the  sugar-maple 
grows  as  it  grows  nowhere  else,  whose  leaves  in  the 
autumn  so  beautify  our  Western  forests.  Here,  the 
white  ash  peers  up  in  its  grace;  the  butter-nut,  black 
walnut,  and  buckeye,  bespeak  the  great  fertility  of 
the  soil,  and  the  grape-vine  spreads  like  a  net-work 
over  the  tops  of  trees  of  different  species,  binding 
them  into  fraternal  harmony.  Thus,  in  the  society 
of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  even  this  parasite  liveth 
not  to  itself;  it  receives  from  society,  but  returns  to 
it  an  equivalent.  The  limbs  which  it  burdens,  it 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  287 

purples  with  its  clusters,  which  it  bears  for  all.     Na- 
ture abhors  a  loafer,  as  much  as  she  does  a  vacuum. 

"We  became  attached  to  the  hills  of  Ohio,  its  cabin 
homes  nestling  on  the  sides,  and  its  little  corn-fields 
turned  up  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  and  yet 
yielding  with  an  Egyptian  luxuriance.  In  this  early 
day,  when  railroads  were  not  thought  of,  man  had  no 
motive  to  produce  a  surplus,  as  markets  were  too 
remote.  His  highest  aim  was  to  bring  the  year 
AROUND,  which  simply  meant,  that  he  raised  enough 
to  eat  and  drink.  "I  must  raise  corn  enough  to  do 
me,  and  pork  enough,"  said  the  farmer,  "and  then, 
when  the  wintery  blasts  sweep  over  my  cabin,  and 
the  soft  and  feathery  snow  steals  silently  down  from 
the  leaden  heavens,  I  can  sit  before  my  big  back- 
log, and  watch  my  friendly  fire,  and  feel  that  the 
wintery  blast  has  no  terror  nor  rebuke  for  me."  But 
let  no  one  suppose  that  this  type  of  unprogressive  life 
was  doomed  to  scanty  or  unsavory  meals.  I  doubt 
whether  the  highest  culinary  art  of  more  modern 
phases  of  society,  has  added  any  to  the  luxuries  of 
the  living.  Here  was  the  yellow  butter,  fresh  from 
the  churn,  and  butter-milk  far  surpassing  in  richness 
the  diluted  milk  of  our  city  market.  Here  the 
warm  Johnny-cake  and  generous,  smoking  dodger 
just  from  the  skillet,  bacon  fattened  on  yellow  corn, 
dried  pumpkins,  and  a  densely-populated  poultry- 
yard,  the  sides  of  whose  denizens  shook  with  fat,  as 


288  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

they  always  had  free  access  to  the  corn-crib.  In 
writing  these  lines,  my  gastronomical  nerves  become 
a  little  watery  and  clamorous.  I  have  said  I  loved 
these  hills.  Perhaps  it  is  the  mode  of  life  I  have 
described,  which  made  me  love  them,  as  I  am  now 
sighing  for  a  quiet  obscurity  in  which  to  die.  But 
perhaps  there  is  a  deeper  reason  why  I  love  it.  He 
whose  counsels  have  been  the  cynosure  of  my  life, 
and  she  who  watched  over  my  childhood,  once  so 
lived.  Such  was  the  home  of  my  boyhood,  and 
it  has  been  the  home  of  my  heart  ever  since.  The 
tiny  corn-crib,  and  the  rude,  and,  when  compared 
with  Northwestern  farming,  the  Liliputian  tenements, 
have  magic  charms  for  me.  In  my  fevered  dreams 
and  prospective  helplessness,  imagination  dwells 
upon  such  a  quiet  retreat,  and  at  times  I  fancy 
myself  the  happy  inmate  of  such  a  lowly  home, 
where,  unremembered  by  few,  besides  Him  who  has 
already  written  my  name  in  the  book  of  life,  I 
may  die  in  quiet.  I  have  been  richly  favored  with 
all  the  domestic  comforts  of  modern  progress,  and 
yet  on  the  well-swept  hearthstone  and  carpetless 
floor  of  such  a  home,  the  sun  of  my  earthly  bliss  has 
shed  its  loveliest  golden  light,  and  sweetest  violet 
hues.  Home  is*  a  thing  of  the  heart,  and  there  is 
no  place  like  it.  Our  sweetest  conceptions  of  heaven 
are  brought  down  to  us  under  the  idea  of  home.  On 
earth,  I  never  had  but  one  home,  and  that  waa 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  289 

my  cabin-home  with  its  little  corn-field  in  the  wild- 
wood  away. 

But  I  lengthily  digress.  In  Kising  Sun,  three 
of  our  rest  days  were  to  be  spent.  After  a  Sabbath 
of  my  usual  failures,  I  resolved  to  atone  for  the 
meagerness  of  my  pulpit  ministrations,  by  an  increase 
of  pastoral  faithfulness.  I  commenced  on  Monday 
morning  visiting  in  good  earnest.  My  attention  was 
called  by  a  brother  to  an  interesting  case.  An 
emigrant  family,  just  from  England,  in  straitened 
circumstances,  (they  had  evidently  known  better,) 
on  their  way  down  the  river,  had  been  compelled  to 
abandon  their  journey,  in  consequence  of  the  increas- 
ing illness  of  their  oldest  and  favorite  son,  in  whose 
behalf  the  distant,  transatlantic  voyage  had  been 
undertaken.  His  mother  was  reputed  pious,  but 
the  dying  boy  was  reputed  taciturn  on  subjects 
pertaining  to  eternity,  much  to  the  anguish  of  his 
mother.  To  this  family  of  strangers,  and  house 
of  affliction,  I  hastily  hied.  I  delicately  introduced 
myself  in  my  true  character,  and  met  from  the 
mother  (the  husband  was  absent)  a  most  cordial 
reception.  After  various  and  natural  inquiries,  I 
introduced  the  great  suoject  of  my  mission.  A  tear 
at  once  bubbled  up  in  the  eye  of  the  mother,  but  I 
noticed  in  the  son  no  emotion.  I  thought  that  dis- 
dain mingled  with  the  fever  of  his  cheek.  He 
was  consumptive,  and  in  its  last  stages.  I  thought 


290  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

not  fit  to  address  him  directly  at  that  time,  but 
learned  from  his  mother  the  fearful  condition  of 
uncertainty  in  which  his  soul  was  placed.  She 
sobbed  aloud,  and  still  his  emaciated  countenance 
seemed  as  emotionless  as  marble.  He  had  only 
spoken  to  me  in  monosyllables,  and  hardly  deigned 
to  look  directly  at  me.  Believing  that  there  is  a 
road  to  all  hearts,  I  changed  the  theme,  spoke  to  him 
of  the  perils  of  coming  to  America,  of  the  affliction 
of  exhausted  means,  and  closed  by  stating  that  I 
could  speak  from  experience.  .1,  myself,  was  an 
English  boy,  and  born  near  where  your  son  here  was 
born,  and  it  would  seem  that  the  disparity  between 
our  ages  was  not  «rery  great.  Pending  the  utterance 
of  these  words,  the  young  man  scanned  me  closely, 
his  eyes  of  glass  and  silver  flashing  out  from  their 
bony  sockets.  "  So  you  are  an  Englishman,"  he  at 
last  said,  to  which  I  replied  with  honest  and  affec- 
tionate pride,  and  his  .whole  countenance  and 
demeanor  seemed  changed  toward  me.  I  had 
touched  his  heart,  where  there  lay  a  spell  of  home- 
sickness fatal  to  him  in  his  emaciated  condition. 
Seduced  by  the  flattering  whispers  of  his  insidious 
disease,  he  seemed  unwilling  to  believe  that  he 
would  not  yet  live  to  retrace  the  weary  miles  that 
lay  between  him  and  the  rural  home  of  his  heart's 
devotion.  I  did  not  thwart  him  in  his  hopes,  but 
gently  hinted  to  him  of  a  better  home  in  heaven. 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  291 

His  lip  quivered,  and  relapsed  in  silence  for  some 
moments,  when  again  he  said,  "  If  I  could  believe 
your  religion,  I  should,  doubtless,  be  happier.  My 
pungent  afflictions  here  make  me  misanthropic,  the 
future  is  a  cold  vacuity,  annihilation  a  terrible 
thought,  nonconsciousness  scarcely  less  to  be  dreaded 
than  your  orthodox  hell."  The  seal  was  broken,  the 
mother  sobbed,  tears  boiled  up  in  the  eyes  of  the  wan 
consumptive,  a  fact  was  revealed.  The  young  man 
was  an  infidel;  he  had  received  a  good  education,  and 
had  been  poisoned  by  the  infidel  clubs  and  infidel 
books  of  the  day ;  he  had  even  brought  Thomas  Paine 
to  America.  I  met  his  arguments,  or  rather  those 
which  I  knew  he  employed,  as  best  I  could,  and 
whatever  were  my  other  deficiencies,  he  found  me 
at  least  so  read  up  in  this  department,  that  he  seemed 
to  respect  my  opinions.  After  referring  him  to 
the  gloomy  conclusions  of  his  own  creed,  I  proposed 
prayer.  I  left  him  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  he  giving 
my  hand,  at  parting,  a  feverish  pressure,  and  uniting 
with  his  mother  in  a  request  that  I  should  call 
again. 

After  a  delicate  inquiry  into  the  temporal  wants 
of  the  family,  I  retired.  I  repeated  my  call  in  the 
afternoon,  and  twice  every  day  during  my  stay  in 
the  village.  Each  successive  call  was  favored  by 
encouraging  results.  Myself  and  spiritual  patient 

became  friends  and  favorites.     I  had  battered  away 

19 


292  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

the  strong  pillars  of  his  opposition  to  Christ.  I 
had  read  to  him  beautiful  passages  from  the  Gos- 
pel, commenting  thereon.  Aided  by  the  Divine 
Spirit,  I  indulged  the  hope  that  a  mental  and 
moral  revolution  was  effected.  He  would  not  permit 
me  to  leave  him,  however,  until  I  had  pledged  my- 
self that  in  the  week  from  the  Saturday  following 
the  time  that  we  parted,  at  which  time  I  was  to  be 
there,  according  to  arrangements,  I  would  give  him 
my  earliest  attention,  after  my  arrival;  Iwt  alas!  I 
again  made  my  circuit  round,  arrived  on  Saturday 
morning  at  my  favorite  appointment,  at  Brother 
"Wood's,  already  mentioned,  fully  intending  by  two 
or  three  o'clock  \o  be  by  the  bedside  of  my  dying 
consumptive. 

The  religious  services  of  the  day  passed,  as 
usual,  delightfully  away,  when,  repairing  to  the 
stable  for  my  horse,  with  a  sense  of  tremulous 
obligation  upon  my  heart,  I  was  met  by  a  large 
circle  of  youth,  about  my  age.  They  were  going  to 
organize  a  singing-school  in  the  neighborhood  on 
that  evening.  It  was  very  desirable  that  the 
preacher  should  be  present.  .  All  of  the  "  Missouri 
Harmonist"  of  the  neighborhood,  far  and  near,  were 
detailed  for  the  occasion,  and  an  honest-hearted,  good 
time  was  expected.  I  resisted  their  importunities, 
firmly  pleading  a  previous  obligation,  and  naming 
ne  particulars.  They  seemed  to  appreciate  it.  A-t 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  293 

this  moment  brighter  eyes  than  had  beamed  upon 
me  before,  in  the  argument,  set  up  their  plea. 
"  Converse  sparingly  with  woman."  A  fatal  sugges- 
tion occurred  that  I  could  spend  Sabbatfy  afternoon 
with  my  penitent  inquirer,  and  restore  myself  to  his 
confidence  by  an  apology  that  must  be  accepted.  I 
returned  to  my  home,  spent  the  afternoon  and  even- 
ing in  appropriate  hilarity,  without  a  whisper  of  a 
reproving  conscience,  but  my  meditations  in  the 
night  season  were  replete  with  self-reproach  and 
ominous  forebodings. 

The  next  morning,  long  before  the  usual  time,  I 
was  on  my  way  to  my  village  appointment,  but 
either  because  my  heart  was  heavy,  or  some  other 
cause,  I  did  not  arrive  there  until  the  congregation 
was  assembled.  As  I  ascended  the  pulpit  I  saw  it 
was  somewhat  thin.  A  gloom,  too,  seemed  to  rest 
upon  it.  After  the  preliminary  exercises,  a  brother 
approached  the  pulpit,  informing  me  that  a  young 
man  had  died  with  the  consumption  the  Saturday 
evening  previous,  and  that  the  funeral  was  desired 
the  Monday  morning  following.  The  announcement 
\vas  to  me  as  a  voice  from  eternity ;  and'I  trembled 
and  stumbled  more  than  usual  through  the  subse- 
quent services. 

Repairing  at  once  to  the  house  of  bereavement 
and  bed  of  death,  I  was  still  received  by  his 
mother,  whose  eyes  were  red  with  weeping,  with 


294  INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY. 

the  greatest  confidence  and  cordiality.  I  felt  that 
did  she  but  know  the  facts  in  the  case,  she  ought 
to  reproach  me  for  my  unfaithfulness  ;  but  O,  merci- 
ful God,  conscience  had  needed  no  help.  She  told 
me  that  her  son  sank  rapidly  after  I  left ;  that  he 
had  occasionally  read  the  Bible,  a  thing  he  had 
never  done  before,  on  his*  dying  bed.  He  was  yet 
painfully  uncommunicative  in  reference  to  his  true 
state.  He  sr>oke  often  of  me,  and  longed  for  the 
day  to  come  when  I  would  revisit  him.  On  the  Sat- 
urday on  which  I  was  expected  he  had  watched 
every  hour  anxiously  as  it  was  measured  off  by  an 
old  English  clock,  which  he  insisted  on  having  placed 
before  him.  At  two  his  mother  was  to  go  to  the 
door  to  see  if  she  could  not  see  me  riding  down  the 
slope  of  the  distant  hill.  At  three,  he  knew  I  would 
be  there  soon.  A  few  minutes  before  four  he  ex- 
claimed, "Mr.  W.,  O  my  young  friend — Jesus — 
Christ" — -coughed,  and  sunk  away  in  insensibility. 
At  five  he  asked  if  I  had  come  yet.  The  words 
were  his  last.  At  eight  he  was  in  eternity. 

Reader,  twenty-two  years  have  fled  since  this  sad 
rehearsal,  and  yet  is  it  as  fresh  in  my  memory  to-day 
as  if  it  occurred  but  yesterday.  I  never  think  of  it 
without  its  suggesting  some  rebuking  scripture. 
He  that  is  "  faithful  over  a  few  things  I  will  make 
ruler  over  many  things."  And  when  on  the  next 
day  I  took  the  last  look  of  him  in  the  coffin,  and  his 


INCIDENTS    IN    ITINERANCY.  295 

aallow,  skeletonized,  purple  and  cream-colored  hand 
which  lay  upon  his  breast,  caught  my  eye,  one  of  the 
fingers,  which  had  been  slightly  misplaced,  seemed 
to  point  up  to  me  in  rebuke,  I  turned  away  with  a 
Peter's  heart,  as  at  the  crucifixion,  remembering  that 
Christ  has  said,  to  visit  and  administer  to  the  sick  is 
to  do  these  things  unto  him.  Weeping,  I  uttered, 
"  Wicked  and  slothful  servant."  And  now  the  hand 
that  pens  these  lines  resembles  most  strikingly  the 
hand  of  our  friend  with  whom  the  professed  man  of 
God  kept  such  truant  faith.  An  opportunity  lost,  is 
lostforever. 


THE 


TEXAS    CAMP-MEETIWG. 


BY    CHARLES   SUMMERFIELD. 


THE  TEXAS  CAMP-MEETING. 


DTJBING  the  last  week  in  September,  1836,  the  first 
successful  camp-meeting  was  held  in  Eastern  Texas. 
I  employ  the  epithet  "  successful,"  because  several 
previous  failures  had  apparently  rendered  efforts  of  a 
like  kind  perfectly  hopeless.  Indeed,  the  meridian, 
at  this  period,  was  most  uncongenial  to  the  religious 
and  moral  enterprise.  The  country  bordering  on  the 
Sabine  had  been  occupied  rather  than  settled  by  a 
class  of  adventurers  almost  as  wild  as  the  savages 
whom  they  had  scarcely  expelled,  and  the  beast  of 
prey,  which  still  disputed  their  domains  of  primeval 
forests.  Professional  gamblers,  refugees  from  every 
land,  forgers  of  false  coin,  thieves,  robbers  and  mur- 
derers, interspersed  among  the  race  of  uneducated 
hunters  and  herdsmen,  made  up  the  strange  social 
miscellany,  without  courts,  or  prisons,  or  churches, 
or  schools,  or  even  the  shadow  of  civil  authority,  or 
subordination ;  a  sort  of  unprincipled  pandemonium, 


300  THE    TEXAS    CAMP-MEETING. 

where  fierce  passion  sat  enthroned,  waving  its  bloody 
scepter,  the  bowie  knife !  Let  no  one  accuse  me  of 
exaggeration  for  the  sake  of  dramatic  effect ;  I  am 
speaking  now  of  Shelby  County,  the  home  of  the 
Lynchers,  the  terrible  locale,  where,  ten  years  later, 
forty  persons  were  poisoned  to  death  at  a  marriage 
supper. 

It  will  be  obvious,  that  in  such  a  community,  very 
few  would  be  disposed  to  patronize  camp-meetings ; 
and,  accordingly,  a  dozen  different  trials  at  various 
times  had  never  collected  a  hundred  hearers  on  any 
single  occasion.  But  even  these  were  not  allowed  to 
worship  in  peace ;  uniformly,  the  first  day  or  night> 
a  band  of  armed  desperadoes,  headed  by  the  notori 
ous  "Watt  Foeman,  chief  judge  and  executioner  of 
the  Shelby  Lynchers,  broke  in  the  altar  and  scattered 
the  mourners,  or  ascended  the  pulpit  and  threatened 
the  preachers  to  a  gratuitous  robe  of  tar  and  feathers 
Hence  all  prudent  evangelists  soon  learned  to  shun 
the  left  bank  of  the  Sabine,  as  if  it  had  been  infested 
by  a  cohort  of  demons ;  and  two  whole  years  elapsed 
without  any  new  attempt  to  erect  the  cross  in  so  per- 
ilous a  field. 

At  length,  however,  an  advertisement  appeared, 
promising  another  effort  in  behalf  of  the  Gospel. 
The  notice  was  wfiigue^  a  perfect  backwoods  curiosi- 
ty, both  as  to  its  tenor  and  mode  of  publication.  Let 
me  give  it  verbatim  et  literatim : 


THE    TEXAS    CAMP-MEETING.  301 


"BARBECUE    CAMP-MEETING. 

"  There  will  be  a  camp-meeting,  to  commence  the 
last  Monday  of  this  month,  at  the  Double  Spring 
Grove,  near  Peter  Brinson's,  in  the  County  of  Shelby. 

"The  exercises  will  open  with  a  splendid  barbecue. 
The  preparations  are  being  made  to  suit  all  tastes: 
there  will  be  a  good  barbecue,  better  liquors,  and 
the  best  of  Gospel.  PAUL  DENTON, 

"  Sept.  1, 1836.  Missionary,  M.  E.  0." 

This  singular  document  was  nailed  to  the  door  of 
every  public  house  and  grocery ;  it  was  attached  to 
the  largest  trees  at  the  intersections  of  all  cross  roads 
and  principal  trails ;  and  even  the  wandering  hunters 
themselves  found  it  in  remote  dells  of  the  mountains, 
miles  away  from  the  smoke  of  a  human  habitation. 

At  first  many  regarded  the  matter  as  a  hoax, 
played  off  by  some  wicked  wag,  in  ridicule  of  popu- 
lar credulity.  But  this  hypothesis  was  negatived  by 
the  statements  of  Peter  Brinson,  proprietor  of  the 
"  Double  Spring  Grove,"  who  informed  all  inquirers, 
that  "  he  had  been  employed  and  paid  by  a  stranger, 
calling  himself  a  Methodist  missionary,  to  provide  an 
ample  barbecue,  at  the  period  and  place  advertised. 

"  But  the  liquor,  the  better  liquor ;  are  you  to  fur- 
nish the  liquor  too  ?"  was  the  invariable  question  of 
each  visitor. 


302  THE    TEXAS    CAMP-MEETING. 

"  The  missionary  said  he  would  attend  to  that  him- 
self," said  Brinson. 

"  He  must  be  a  precious  original,"  was  the  general 
rejoinder;  a  proposition  which  most  of  them  after- 
ward had  an  opportunity  to  verify  experimentally.  * 

I  need  hardly  add.  that  an  intense  excitement  re- 
sulted. The  rumor  took  wings  and  flew  on  the  wind, 
turned  to  a  storm,  a  storm  of  exaggeration,  every 
echo  increased  in  its  sound,  till  nothing  else  could  be 
heard  but  the  "Barbecue  Camp-meeting."  It  be- 
came the  focus  of  thought,  the  staple  of  dreams. 
And  thus  the  unknown  preacher  had  insured  one 
thing  in  advance;  a  congregation  embracing  the 
entire  population  of  the  country,  which  was  likely 
the  sole  purpose  of  his  stratagem. 

I  was  traveling  in  that  part  of  Texas  at  the  time, 
and  my  imagination  being  inflamed  by  the  common 
curiosity,  I  took  some  trouble  and  attended.  But 
although  my  eyes  witnessed  the  extraordinary  scene, 
I  may  well  despair  of  the  undertaking  to  paint  it; 
the  pen  of  Homer  or  the  pencil  of  Hogarth  were 
alone  adequate  to  the  sublimity  and  burlesque  of 
such  a  complicated  task.  I  may  only  sketch  the 
angular  outlines. 

A  space  had  been  cleared  away  immediately 
around  the  magnificent  "Double  Spring,"  which 
boiled  up  with  sufiicient  force  to  turn  a  mill-wheel, 
in  the  very  center  of  the  evergreen  grove.  Here  a 


THE    TEXAS    CAMP-MEETING.  303 

pulpit  had  been  raised,  and  before  it  was  the  insepar- 
able altar  for  mourners.  Beyond  these,  at  the  dis- 
tance of  fifty  paces,  a  succession  of  plank  tables 
extended  in  the  form  of  a  great  circle,  or  the  perime- 
fer  of  a  polygon,  completely  inclosing  the  area  about 
the  spring.  An  odoriferous  stream  of  the  most  deli- 
cious savor  diffused  itself  through  the  air.  This  was 
from  the  pits  of  the  adjacent  prairie,  where  the  fifty 
slaves  of  Peter  Brinson  were  engaged  in  cooking  the 
promised  barbecue. 

The  grove  itself  was  literally  alive,  teeming, 
swarming,  running  over  with  strange  figures  in 
human  shape,  men,  women,  and  children.  All 
Shelby  County  was  there.  The  hunters  had  come, 
rifles  in  hand,  and  dogs  barking  at  their  heels ;  the 
rogues,  refugees,  and  gamblers,  with  pistols  in  their 
belts,  and  big  knives  peeping  from  their  shirt 
bosoms,  while  here  and  there  might  be  seen  a  sprink- 
ling of  well-dressed  planters  with  their  wives  and 
daughters. 

The  tumult  was  deafening,  a  tornado  of  babbling 
tongues,  talking,  shouting,  quarreling,  betting,  and 
cursing  for  amusement.  Suddenly  a  cry  arose, 
"  Colonel  Watt  Foeman  !  Hurrah  for  Colonel  Watt 
Foeman  1"  and  the  crowd  parted  right  and  left,  to  let 
the  lion  Lyncher  pass. 

I  turned  to  the  advancing  load-star  of  all  eyes,  and 
shuddered  involuntarily  at  the  satanic  countenance 


304  THE    TEXAS    CAMP-MEETING. 

that  met  my  glance,  and  yet  the  features  were  not 
only  youthful,  but  eminently  handsome ;  the  hideous- 
ness  lay  in  the  look  of  savage  fire ;  ferocious,  mur- 
derous. It  was  in  the  reddish-yellow  eye-balls,  with 
arrowy  pupils  that  seemed  to  flash  jets  of  lurid 
flame ;  in  the  thin  sneering  lips  with  their  everlasting 
icy  smile.  As  to  the  rest,  he  was  a  tall,  athletic, 
very  powerful  man.  His  train,  a  dozen  armed  des- 
peradoes, followed  him. 

Foeman  spoke  in  a  voice,  sharp,  piercing  as  the 
point  of  a  dagger :  "  Eh,  Brinson,  where  is  the  new 
missionary  ?  We  want  to  give  him  a  plumed  coat." 

"  He  has  not  yet  arrived,"  replied  the  planter. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  must  wait  for  him ;  but 
put  the  barbecue  on  the  boards;  I  am  as  hungry 
as  a  starved  wolf." 

"  I  cannot  till  the  missionary  comes ;  the  barbecue 
is  his  property." 

A  fearful  light  blazed  in  Foeman's  eyes,  as  he  took 
three  steps  toward  Brinson,  and  fairly  shouted, 
"  Fetch  me  the  meat  instantly,  or  I'll  fill  your  own 
stomach  with  a  dinner  of  lead  and  steel!" 

This  was  the  ultimatum  of  one  whose  authority 
was  the  only  law,  and  the  planter  obeyed  without 
a  murmur.  The  smoking  viands  were  arranged 
on  the  table  by  a  score  of  slaves,  and  the  throng 
prepared  to  commence  the  sumptuous  meal,  when 
a  voice  pealed  from  the  pulpit,  loud  as  the  blast  of  a 


THE    TEXAS    CAMP-MEETING.  306 

trumpet  in  battle,  "Stay,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  till 
the  giver  of  the  barbecue  asks  God's  blessing !" 

Every  ear  started,  every  eye  was  directed  to 
the  speaker,  and  a  whisperless  silence  ensued,  for  all 
alike  were  struck  by  his  remarkable  appearance. 
He  was  almost  a  giant  in  stature,  though  scarcely 
twenty  years  of  age ;  his  hair,  dark  as  the  raven's 
wing,  flowed  down  his  immense  shoulders  in  masses 
of  natural  ringlets  more  beautiful  than  any  ever 
wreathed  around  the  jeweled  brow  of  a  queen 
by  the  labored  achievements  of  human  art ;  his  eyes, 
black  as  midnight,  beamed  like  stars  over  a  face 
as  pale  as  Parian  marble,  calm,  passionless,  spiritual, 
and  wearing  a  singular,  indefinable  expression,  such 
as  might  have  been  shed  by  the  light  of  a  dream 
from  paradise,  or  the  luminous  shadow  of  an  angel's 
wing.  The  heterogeneous  crowd,  hunters,  gamblers, 
homicides,  gazed  in  mute  astonishment. 

The  missionary  prayed,  but  it  sounded  like  no 
other  prayer  ever  addressed  to  the  throne  of  the 
Almighty.  It  contained  no  encomiums  on  the  splen- 
dor of  the  Divine  attributes ;  no  petitions  in  the  tone 
of  commands ;  no  orisons  for  distant  places,  times,  or 
objects ;  no  implied  instruction  as  to  the  administra- 
tion of  the  government  of  the  universe.  It  related 
exclusively  to  the  present  people  and  the  present 
hour ;  it  was  the  cry  of  the  naked  soul,  and  that  soul 
was  a  beggar  for  the  bread  and  water  of  heavenly  life. 


306  THE    TEXAS    CAMP-MEETING. 

He  ceased,  and  not  till  then  did  I  become  con- 
scious of  weeping.  I  looked  around  through  my 
tears,  and  saw  a  hundred  faces  wet  as  with  rain. 

"Now,  my  friends,  partake  of  God's  gifts  at  the 
table,  and  then  come  and  sit  down  and  listen  to  his 
Gospel." 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  sweet  tone 
of  kindness  in  which  these  simple  words  were  uttered, 
that  made  him  on  the  instant  five  hundred  friends. 
One  heart,  however,  in  the  assembly,  was  maddened 
by  the  evidences  of  the  preacher's  wonderful  powers. 
Colonel  "Watt  Foeman  exclaimed  in  a  sneering  voice : 
"  Mr.  Paul  Denton,  your  reverence  has  lied.  You 
promised  us  not  only  a  good  barbecue,  but  better 
liquor.  Where  is  your  liquor?" 

"There!"  answered  the  missionary  in  tones  of 
thunder,  and  pointing  his  motionless  finger  at  the 
Double  Spring,  gushing  up  in  two  strong  columns, 
with  a  sound  like  a  shout  of  joy  from  the  bosom 
of  the  earth.  "There!"  he  repeated,  with  a  look 
terrible  as  lightning,  while  his  enemy  actually  trem- 
bled at  his  feet ;  "  there  is  the  liquor,  which  God,  the 
Eternal,  brews  for  all  his  children ! 

"Not  in  the  simmering  still,  over  smoking  fires, 
choked  with  poisonous  gases,  and  surrounded  with 
the  stench  of  sickening  odors  and  rank  corruption, 
doth  your  Father  in  heaven  prepare  the  precious 
essence  of  life,  pure  cold  water.  But  in  the  green 


THE    TEXAS    CAMP-MEETING.  307 

glade  and  grassy  dell,  where  the  red  deer  wanders 
and  the  child  loves  to  play,  there  God  himself  brews 
it;  and  down,  low  down  in  the  deepest  valleys, 
where  the  fountains  murmur  and  the  rills  sing ;  and 
high  upon  the  mountain-tops,  where  the  naked  gran- 
ite glitters  like  gold  in  the  sun,  where  the  storm- 
cloud  broods,  and  the  thunder-storms  crash ;  and  away, 
far  out  on  the  wide,  wide  sea,  where  the  hurricane 
howls  music,  and  big  waves  roar  the  chorus,  '  sweep- 
ing the  march  of  God' — there  he  brews  it,  that 
beverage  of  life,  health-giving  water." 

"  And  everywhere  it  is  a  thing  of  beauty :  gleam- 
ing in  the  dew-drop ;  singing  in  the  summer  rain ; 
shining  in  the  ice-gem,  till  the  trees  seem  turned 
to  living  jewels;  spreading  a  golden  vail  over  the 
setting  sun,  or  a  white  gauze  around  the  midnight 
moon;  sporting  in  the  cataract;  sleeping  in  the 
glacier ;  dancing  in  the  hail  shower ;  folding  bright 
snow  curtains  softly  above  the  wintery  world,  and 
weaving  the  many-colored  iris,  that  seraph's  zone 
of  the  sky,  whose  warp  is  the  rain  of  earth,  whose 
woof  is  the  sunbeam  of  heaven,  all  checkered  o'er 
with  celestial  flowers,  by  the  mystic  hand  of  rarefac- 
tion, still  always  it  is  beautiful,  that  blessed  cold 
water.  No  poison  bubbles  on  its  brink ;  its  foam 
brings  not  madness  and  murder ;  no  blood  stains  its 
liquid  glass ;  pale  widows  and  starving  orphans 

weep   not  burning  tears   in   its   clear   depths;    no 

20 


308  THE    TEXAS    CAMP-MEETING. 

drunkard's  shrieking  ghost  from  the  grave  curses  it 
in  words  of  despair !  Speak  out,  my  friends,  would 
you  exchange  it  for  the  demon's  drink,  alcohol  ?" 

A  shout  like  the  roar  of  the  tempest  answered, 
"No!"  -"No!" 

Critics  need  never  tell  me  again  that  backwoods- 
men are  deaf  to  the  Divine  voice  of  eloquence ;  for 
I  saw,  at  that  moment,  the  missionary  held  the 
hearts  of  the  multitude,  as  it  were,  in  the  hollow  of 
his  hand;  and  the  popular  feeling  ran  in  a  current 
so  irresistible,  that  even  the  duelist,  "Watt  Foeman, 
dared  not  venture  another  interruption  during  the 
meeting. 

I  have  just  reviewed  my  report  of  that  singular 
speech  in  the  foregoing  sketch ;  but,  alas !  I  discov- 
er that  I  have  utterly  failed  to  convey  the  full  im- 
pression, as  my  reason  and  imagination  received  it. 
The  language,  to  be  sure,  is  there ;  that  I  never  could 
forget ;  but  it  lacks  the  spirit,  the  tones  of  unuttera- 
ble pathos,  the  cadence  of  mournful  music  alternat- 
ing with  the  crashes  of  terrible  power;  it  lacks  the 
gesticulation,  now  graceful  as  the  play  of  a  golden 
willow  in  the  wind,  and  anon,  violent  as  the  motion 
of  a  mountain  pine  in  the  hurricane ;  it  lacks  that 
pale  face,  wrapped  in  its  dreams  of  the  spirit-land, 
and  those  unfathomable  eyes  flashing  a  light  such  as 
never  beamed  from  sun  or  stars,  and  more  than  all, 
it  lacks  the  magnetism  of  the  mighty  soul  that 


THE    TEXAS    CAMP-MEETING.  309 

seemed  to  diffuse  itself  among  the  hearers  as  a  view- 
less stream  of  electricity,  penetrating  the  brain  like 
some  secret  fire,  melting  all  hearts,  mastering  evolu- 
tions. 

The  camp-meeting  continued,  and  a  revival  attend- 
ed it,  such  as  never  before,  or  since,  was  witnessed  in 
the  forests  of  Texas.  But,  unfortunately,  on  the  last 
day  of  the  exercises,  news  arrived  on  the  ground, 
that  a  neighboring  farmer  had  been  murdered,  and 
his  wife  and  children  carried  away  prisoners  by  the 
Indians. 

The  young  missionary  sprang  into  the  pulpit,  and 
proposed  the  immediate  organization  of  a  company 
to  pursue  the  savages.  The  suggestion  being  adopt- 
ed, the  mover  himself  was  elected  to  lead  the  party. 
After  several  days  of  hard  riding,  they  overtook  the 
barbarous  enemy  in  the  grand  prairie.  The  mis- 
sionary charged  foremost  to  his  troops,  and  having 
performed  prodigies  of  bravery,  fell,  not  by  the  hand 
of  an  Indian,  but  by  a  shot  from  one  of  his  own 
horsemen ! 

I  need  scarcely  name  the  assassin,  the  reader  will 
have  anticipated  me,  the  incarnate  fiend,  Colonel 
Watt  Foeman,  chief  hangman  of  the  Shelby  Lynch- 
ers,  and  ten  years  later,  a  master  cook  at  the  pois- 
oned wedding. 

Such  is  the  only  fragment  of  the  biography  of  a 
wounded  genius,  the  sole  twinkling  ray  of  a  dazzling 


310  THE    TEXAS    CAMP  -  MEETING. 

luminary,  that  rose  and  set  in  the  wilderness,  a  torn 
leaf  from  Paul  Denton's  book  of  life.  Peace  to  his 
«,shes.  He  sleeps  well,  in  that  lone  isle  of  ever- 
greens, surrounded  by  the  evergreen  sea  of  the 
prairie.  Nature's  beloved  son  inherits  her  consist- 
ent tomb,  that  last  possession,  the  inalienable  fee 
simple  of  all  time. 


REV.  JOHN  NEWLAND  MAFFITT 

HIS  SAD  BSD  ASD  CHRISTIAN  CHARACTER. 


REV.  JOHN  NEWLAND  MAFFITT. 


THE  name  of  Maffitt,  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury, has  been  excitingly  familiar  to  the  American 
public.  And  yet  it  is  difficult  to  say  why.  There  is 
a  mysterious  magic  about  his  name.  As  a  pulpit 
orator  he  is  sui  generis.  Mentally  and  morally  he  is 
a  problem  for  solution.  If,  in  the  latter  sense,  he  is 
considered  by  some  equivocal,  in  the  former  he  has 
been  considered  by  more  inexplicable. 

What  are  the  elements  of  power  he  so  skillfully 
combines  in  his  profession  ?  A  question,  this,  we  do 
not  recollect  ever  to  have  seen  satisfactorily  answered. 
Compared  with  master  minds,  his,  like  his  person,  is 
below  even  the  medium  size,  in  all  the  commonly- 
enumerated  essentials  of  intellectual  might.  He  can- 
not be  called  learned.  His  reading  for  the  most  part 
is  of  the  lighter  class.  He  seems  to  have  paid  his 
respects  to  the  profound,  the  text-books  of  theology 
and  philosophy,  but  in  patches.  In  science,  except 
perhaps  it  be  in  mere  common-school  English  ele- 


314         REV.    JOHN    NEWLAND    MAFFITT. 

mentaries,  he  is  still  more  superficial.  Nor  is  there 
aught  about  him  physically  which  a  stranger  would 
be  ready  to  attribute  to  his  advantage.  "We  are,  per- 
haps, less  inclined  to  award  to  him  the  highest  gift  of 
Apollo,  for  being  a  Zaccheus  in  stature.  But  with 
these,  and  other  factitious  disadvantages  more  serious, 
Maffitt  never  fails  of  an  audience.  The  announcement 
of  his  name  as  the  speaker  has  long  been  a  stereotyped 
signal  for  a  jam.  Men  of  all  professions,  minds  of  all 
molds  and  of  every  degree  of  mental  wealth,  have 
confessed  the  spell-like  power  of  his  eloquence.  And 
those  who,  on  a  first  hearing,  loudest  confess  their  dis- 
appointment at  his  "  theatrical  manner,"  and  the  com- 
mon-placeness  of  his  matter,  are  generally  among  the 
first  to  hear  him  again,  and  the  last  to  stay  away. 
As  an  author,  his  pen  is  powerless  ;  as  an  orator,  he 
is  omnipotent. 

Wherein,  then,  lieth  his  great  strength  ?  To  this 
question,  at  the  risk  of  a  failure,  we  shall  attempt  an 
answer.  It  consists  not  in  his  learning,  nor  in  his 
logic,  nor  in  originality  of  thought,  nor  in  its  combi- 
nation. Nor  does  it  consist,  as  some  have  supposed, 
in  his  imagination.  In  all  these  respects  he  is  excel- 
led by  thousands  in  the  same  profession,  and  yet  we 
iiave  but  one  Maffitt.  Nor  does  it  consist,  certainly, 
in  unchallenged  sanctity  of  life,  nor  always  in  the  in- 
spiration of  the  true  spirit  of  his  holy  calling.  Nor 
can  we  claim  for  him  association  with  some  fortunate 


BEV.    JOHN    NEWLAND    MAFPITT.        315 

event  that  has  exalted  him  to  fame,  and  placed  him, 
by  the  deceptive  power  of  association  in  such  cases, 
in  the  eye  and  ear  of  the  world. 

As  an  orator,  we  humbly  apprehend  that  Maffitt 
excels  in  manner,  in  fancy,  the  ardor  of  his  natural 
affections,  and  strength  of  his  self-reliance.  In  these 
elements  of  power,  as  we  shall  explain  them,  the  sub- 
ject of  these  remarks  will  be  found  so  far  to  excel,  as 
to  enable  him,  despite  his  deficiency  in  others,  to  take 
rank  among  the  most  effective  of  living  speakers.  We 
would  employ  the  word  "  manner,"  as  implying  all 
the  physical  attributes  of  the  orator,  such  as  appropri- 
ate gestures,  natural  intonations,  distinct  enunciation, 
proper  emphasis,  etc.  This  art  has  ever  been  consid- 
ered of  the  first  moment  to  the  orator.  The  world 
abounds  with  volumes  in  its  praise.  And  yet,  striking 
excellence  in  this  art  is  but  rarely  attained.  This  has 
been  attributed  more  to  a  neglect  of  its  study,  than  to 
the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  its  acquirement.  An 
error,  we  verily  believe.  To  attain,  to  a  striking 
model  of  manner  requires  a  peculiar  tinge  of  genius, 
an  idiosyncrasy  of  constitution,  which,  like  poetry,  is 
more  a  gift  than  the  fruit  of  the  most  elaborate  culti- 
vation. There  are  but  few  speakers  whose  manner,  in 
some  of  its  parts,  may  not  be  much  improved  by 
study ;  but  that  perfect  whole,  that  symmetrical  mod- 
el, which  well-nigh  defies  criticism  by  being  too  subtle 
for  description,  it  belongs  to  the  favored  few  alone  to 


316         REV.    JOHN    NEWLAND    MAFFITT. 

attain.  Like  the  smile  of  dreaming  infancy,  like  the 
mantling  blushes  of  artless  innocence,  or  like  the  look 
of  a  child's  want  in  the  bitterness  of  its  woe,  or  the 
last  look  of  a  mother  and  widow  into  the  grave  of  her 
last  earthly  hope,  this  climax  of  excellence  in  manner 
must  be  witnessed  to  be  understood  and  felt  in  all  its 
enchanting  potency.  It  is  embodied  beauty,  and  fit- 
ness, and  passion,  and  power,  speaking  to  the  heart 
through  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  taste,  addressing  itself  to 
our  instinctive  love  of  the  purely  natural,  chastened 
by  art,  with  a  voice  of  sweet  authority  which  it  re- 
quires violence  to  our  nature  to  resist.  But  the  feel- 
ings which  such  a  manner  inspires  are  its  only  ade- 
quate description. 

"  There's  a  power  in  delivery,  a  magical  art, 
That  thrills  like  a  kiss  from  the  lip  to  the  heart." 

If  Maffitt's  manner  be  not  always  faultless,  manner- 
ism forms  no  part  of  it.  There  is  no  muscular  move- 
ment, no  habit-fixed  peculiarity,  which  wearies  and 
disgusts  by  its  habitual  occurrence.  All  the  muscular 
accompaniments,  and  manifestations  of  thought, 
feeling,  and  passion,  are  as  endlessly  diversified  as  are 
thought,  feeling,  and  passion.  His  manner  is  kaleido- 
scopic. He  conforms  his  pronunciation  to  the 
most  approved  authority  with  the  tenacity  of  the 
eccentric  Randolph.  His  enunciation  is  clear  and 
distinct,  touching,  rounding,  sharpening,  trilling,  or 


REV.    JOHN    NEWLAND    MAFFITT.         317 

aspirating,  each  primitive  element  that  compounds  in 
a  word,  often  giving  such  distinctness  to  the  alpha- 
betical powers  that  he  seems  to  have  spelled  the 
word  in  its  pronunciation.  And  difficult  as  it  is,  in 
this  he  succeeds,  as,  indeed,  he  generally  does  in  all 
the  branches  of  his  elocution,  without  affectation,  or 
seeming  effort.  His  voice,  though  not  strong,  is 
under  masterly  control,  and  passes  up  through  the 
musical  scale  with  as  much  ease  as  flows  the  stream 
of  song  from  the  throat  of  the  mocking-bird.  His 
tones,  like  his  gestures,  are  ever  varying  with  the 
sense  and  the  emotion.  Possessing  great  sweetness 
and  compass  of  voice,  as  if  with  whispers  aerial,  and 
music  ventriloquial,  he  breathes  his  chastened  senten- 
ces into  the  ear  of  his  remotest  auditor.  His  voice  in 
its  swell  fills  a  large  space,  and  to  hear  him  is  always 
to  understand  him.  His  manner  effects  more  than 
his  matter.  The  latter  may  consist  of  familiar  surface 
truths,  and  generally  does,  but  invested  with  the 
charm  of  his  manner  common-placeisms  assume  a 
new  interest  and  freshen  into  beauty.  In  suiting  the 
look  to  the  passion  and  the  action  to  the  word, 
Maffitt  has  rarely  had  his  equal,  whether  on  the  stage, 
at  the  bar,  or  in  the  pulpit.  When  putting  forth  his 
full  powers,  he  is  an  incarnation  of  the  mystic  divinity 
of  eloquence.  His  oratory  is  wanting,  perhaps,  in  the 
strong,  the  classical,  the  masculine  element.  It  is 
delicate,  winning,  beautiful,  popular,  electrical, 


318         EEV.  JOHN  NEWLAND    MAFFITT. 

without  being  effeminate.  In  these  respects  it 
corresponds  with  the  happy  accidents  of  physical 
delicacy  and  Adonis-like  features  in  the  person  of 
the  orator.  The  curls  of  a  Cupid,  a  little  foot, 
exquisite  hand,  and  a  form  molded  to  the  sculptor's 
fancy,  are  no  mean  considerations  in  the  measure- 
ment of  Maffitt's  power.  All  concur  and  combine  in 
that  symmetrical  whole — gesture,  voice,  style,  and 
attributes  of  person,  to  make  him  the  exponent 
of  all  that  is  fascinating  in  the  manner  of  the  orator. 

"His  words  they  have  so  rich  a  flow, 

And  speak  the  truth  so  sweet  to  all, 
They  drop  like  Heaven's  serenest  snow, 
And  all  is  brightness  where  they  fall." 

His  fa/ncy  is  another  hiding-place  of  his  power. 
We  do  not  mean  his  imagination.  Fancy  and 
imagination  are  commonly  confounded  in  judging 
the  speaker.  This  is  an  error.  Imagination  is  the 
creative  energy,  the  life-breath  of  an  original  mind. 
Such  a  mind  Maffitt  does  not  possess.  Fancy  is 
the  descriptive  faculty,  the  photogenic  power  of 
mind,  and  this  he  does  possess  in  a  high  degree. 
Imagination  is  the  powder  blast  in  the  quarry  of 
thought ;  fancy  the  sculptor  at  the  touch  of  whose 
chisel  the  marble  blocks  breathe  in  beauty.  Imagi- 
nation is  the  ground  swell  of  mind  that  upheaves  the 
treasures  from  hidden  depths;  fancy  the  lapidary 
that  sets  the  brilliants  in  a  diadem  of  beauty.  Imagi- 


REV.    JOHN    NEWLAND    MAFFITT.         319 

nation  indicates  strength  of  mind ;  fancy  sensibility. 
Imagination  and  fancy  are  related  in  mind  like  heat 
and  color  in  the  solar  ray.  The  former  warms  the 
lily  into  life,  the  latter  adorns  it  with  the  hues  of  the 
rainbow.  These  two  powers  are  seldom  balanced  in 
a  single  mind.  If  one  be  remarkably,  active,  the  other 
will  be  weak.  In  Maffitt's  mind  fancy  predominates. 
Not  that  his  descriptive  powers  are  really  so  very 
extraordinary.  But  his  propensity  for  description  is. 
With  him,  the  love  of  the  descriptive  in  oratory 
amounts  to  a  passion ;  a  passion  slightly  morbid  per- 
haps, and  insatiately  craving  indulgence.  With  him 
the  life-sketch,  the  narrative,  the  picturesque,  abound 
in  every  discourse.  And  in  the  fire,  the  fervor,  the 
pathos  of  extempore  utterance,  his  imagery  is  most 
gorgeous,  often  extravagant ;  a  cataract  of  flowers. 
His  sermons  are  panoramic  ;  a  succession  of  pictures. 
And  though  they  may  at  times  fail  of  being  light  to 
the  mind  and  fire  to  the  heart,  they  rarely,  if  ever, 
fail  of  being  beauty  to  the  eye,  and  music  to  the  ear; 
and  as  we  shall  more  fully  see,  with  "so  many  strings 
to  his  bow,"  Maffitt  never  makes  "a  total  failure," 
though  his  eiforts  differ  as  widely  in  excellence 
as  those  of  any  other  man.  Even  on  occasions  the 
most  ordinary,  his  hearers  are  made  to  feel  the  subtle 
charm  of  his  eloquence  sufficiently  to  secure  their 
re-attendance. 

The  third  element  in   this  imperfect  analysis  of 


320         REV.  JOHN  NEWLAND  MAFFITT. 

Maffitt's  oratorical  powers  we  have  denominated 
the  ardor  of  his  natural  affections.  The  human 
heart  is  a  harp  of  many  strings.  The  loves  of  the 
sex  and  of  relationship  constitute  the  most  sensitive 
class.  These,  Maffitt  sweeps  with  the  hand  of  a  mas- 
ter. He  is  constantly  dwelling  upon  the  domesticity 
of  our  nature.  His  discourses  are  constantly  abound- 
ing with  portraits  and  incidents  tending  to  arouse 
these  tenderest  sensibilities  into  a  tempest  of  passion. 
He  knows  well  that  there  is  in  this  direction  an  easy 
road  to  all  hearts.  The  tears  of  a  philosopher  lie  as 
shallow  as  those  of  a  peasant  at  the  grave  of  buried 
love.  The  blood-stained  freebooter  hears  with  wet 
eyes,  stories  of  "wife,  children,  and  home."  Maffitt's 
auditors  must  weep  from  sympathy,  if  not  for  theii 
sins.  And  better  would  it  be  for  genuine  religion  if 
such  feelings  in  his  revivals  were  less  often  substitu- 
ted for  it.  That  his  sensibilities  and  sympathies  in 
this  direction  are  less  wholesome  than  morbid,  verg- 
ing far  to  the  romantic  and  sentimental,  we  cannot 
doubt.  In  this,  we  apprehend,  a  deadly  mischief 
lurks,  one  which  throws  over  his  moral  character  all 
that  ambiguity  of  which  it  is  painful  to  think,  and  of 
which  the  public  gossip.  Charity,  however,  should 
compel  the  inference  that  it  does  not  necessarily 
involve  crime.  But  after  generations  will  alone 
draw  that  inference.  In  their  neutralizing  effects, 
long-repeated  imprudences  in  a  minister  are  worse 


REV.  JOHN  NEWLAND   MAFFITT.        321 

than  an  overt  act  of  guilt.  But  these  tender  passions 
of  our  nature  are  wont  to  feel  no  satiety  even  when 
feasted  to  gluttony.  The  novel  charms  us,  though 
its  love  plots  be  too  overwrought  to  be  truthful  to 
nature.  And  this  very  reason  is  an  additional 
reason  why  the  public  have  so  long  confessed  to  an 
omnipotent  enchantment  in  Rev.  John  N".  Maffitt's 
eloquence.  He  will  be  heard  even  by  those  who 
hate  him.  The  fiction  is  read  and  wept  over  because 
it  fires  the  passions,  though  its  falseness  is  acknowl- 
edged. A  doubting  confidence  in  the  piety  of  such 
a  preacher  cannot  deprive  him  of  an  audience. 
Hence  Maflitt,  though  under  the  ban  of  excommuni- 
cation in  the  North,  and  denounced  by  the  public 
press  for  breaking  the  heart  of  a  young  and  beautiful 
wife  in  the  city  of  Brooklyn,  yet  is  seen  a  short 
time  after,  with  the  world  at  his  heels,  figuring  in  a 
•'great  revival"  at  Little  Rock,  Arkansas.  And 
at  this  time,  upon  newspaper  authority,  we  under- 
stand that  his  admirers  are  about  to  build  him  a 
church  in  New  Orleans. 

But  we  are  making  allusions  here  that  form  no  part 
of  the  purpose  of  the  present  article.  We  have  to  do 
only  with  Maffi  tt  as  an  orator.  We  are  attempting  to 
throw  some  light  upon  the  cardinal  causes  of  his 
success — tne  world-wide  celebrity  of  this  celebrated 
Methodist  preacher,  whom  no  power  seems  able  to  si- 
lence, because  the  public  will  hear  him.  With  regard 

»  A  O 


322         EEV.    JOHN    NEWLAND    MAFFITT. 

to  his  self-relicmcef  he  knows  his  forte  too  well  ever  to 
lose  his  self-possession,  or  to  suffer  from  that  choke- 
damp  of  genius,  embarrassment.  He  is  not  wanting  in 
the  fullest  confidence  in  his  own  powers,  and  has  the 
comfortable  vanity  to  believe  that  the  public  are  not. 
The  world  was  made  for  him,  and  he  never  presumes 
for  a  moment  that  he  was  made  to  be  any  less  than 
one  of  its  most  notable  lions.  He  has  faith  in 
himself  that  removes  mountains.  His  manner  helps 
to  get  out  his  matter,  and,  with  the  rich  and  exhaust- 
less  hues  of  his  fine  fancy,  often  more  than  atones  for 
the  lack  of  it. 

What  must  be  the  responsibility  of  such  a  man ! 
Had  his  piety  and  devotedness  always  been  equal  to 
his  powers,  who  could  calculate  the  measure  of  his 
usefulness  ?  His  eulogy  while  living  would  have 
been,  "  The  delightful  wonder  and  admiration  of 
weeping  thousands,"  and  when  -dead  his  memory 
would  have  taken  rank  with  the  sainted  Summerfield 
and  immortal  Whitefield,  as  not  the  least  fragrant  of 
the  trio.  His  example  may  furnish  many  a  useful 
hint  to  the  occupant  of  the  sacred  desk. 

Alas !  since  the  above  was  written,  our  friend  Mat- 
fitt  is  no  more.  He  was  our  friend,  and  intimate,  as 
far  as  he  was  wont  to  have  clerical  intimates.  But 
from  characteristics  already  developed,  these  intima- 
cies with  him  were  not  as  with  other  men.  The 
price  of  them  always  was  that  his  superiority  be 


REV.    JOHN   NEWLAND   MAFFITT.       328 

acknowledged.  It  was  this  that  turned  him  away 
to  seek  less  the  company  of  the  clergy  than  the 
foolish  clown  who  would  flatter  him.  But  we  would 
here  restrain  further  criticism,  and  throw  a  tear- 
dampened  evergreen  upon  his  grave.  Farewell, 
then,  paradox  of  goodness,  greatness,  and  weakness  I 
He  died  at  Mobile,  Alabama,  and  a  leading  journal 
of  that  city  made  the  following  note  of  the  event: 

"Hunted  down  with  faded  reputation,  stricken  and 
ill,  but  with  unblenching  spirit  and  unabated  fire, 
the  orator  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  lay  down  to  die ! 
The  malaria  of  death  was  in  his  nostrils,  and  the  last 
inevitable  hour  had  come.  But  with  his  dying 
breath  he  declared  himself  a  calumniated  man.  He 
said  that  during  his  ministerial  life  he  had  been 
guilty  of  many  frivolous,  but  no  criminal  acts;  for- 
gave his  enemies,  expressed  an  unalterable  trust  in 
the  merits  of  Jesus  Christ  his  Saviour,  and  did  not 
doubt  but  that  all  would  be  well.  Thus  passed  away 
John  Newlaixd  Maffitt ;  and  if  the  reader  will  visit 
Toulminville,  from  whence  can  be  seen  the  spires  of 
Mobile,  in  an  unobtrusive  grave  in  that  tranquil  vil- 
lage, his  eyes  will  rest  upon  the  spot  where  sleeps  the 
most  splendid  pulpit  orator  likely  to  be  seen  in  a  half 
century  to  come !  The  star  which  arose  in  the  East, 
over  the  bright  waters  of  the  deep  and  silent  Shan- 
non, culminated  in  the  American  heavens,  and  went 

down  in  the  West !" 

21 


324          BEV.    JOHN   NEWLAND    MAFFITT. 

A  post  mortem  examination  is  said  to  have  been 
instituted,  when  the  fact  was  elicited,  that  he  died 
literally  of  a  broken  heart.  We  had  hoped  ere  this 
to  have  seen  a  memoir  of  this  remarkable  man.  Time 
has  passed  away,  and  we  have  been  sadly  disappoint- 
ed. As  we  have  already  intimated,  we  trust  that  an 
impartial  memoir  would  make  the  world  think  better 
of  Maffitt  than  it  has.  We  know  not  that  material 
for  the  work  could  now  be  obtained,  and  in  the  mean 
time  oblivion  is  fast  gathering  over  his  extensive  and 
mixed  reputation.  The  following  from  a  responsible 
correspondent  of  the  St.  Louis  Christian  Advocate 
we  insert  here  no  less  from  its  intrinsic  interest  of 
detail  than  as  an  act  of  justice  to  the  deceased: 

"I  was  forcibly  reminded  of  an  incident  that  once 
occurred  in  my  own  intercourse  with  him,  when  he 
visited  St.  Louis  in  the  spring  and  summer  of  1840. 
I  first  heard  him  from  the  pulpit  in  the  city  of  Balti- 
more, when,  in  1829,  '30,  his  eloquence  had  attracted 
the  attention  of  such  vast  crowds  as  constantly  pressed 
their  way  into  the  churches  where  he  was  expected 
to  preach ;  and,  like  many  others,  with  no  better 
means  of  forming  an  opinion,  became  prejudiced  in 
mind,  and  entertained  opinions  unfavorable  to  his 
genuine  piety.  Tears  passed  away  before  I  again 
met  him,  and  then  it  was  upon  his  visit  to  St.  Louis. 
Circumstances  seemed  to  direct  that,  during  that  visit, 
his  residence  should  be  with  my  family.  We  were 


REV.    JOHN    NEWLAND    MAFFITT.          325 

glad  to  entertain  the  man  whose  career  of  usefulness 
had  marked  his  way  in  every  city  and  town  he  had 
visited,  and  who  came  now  to  St.  Louis,  to  use  his 
own  emphatic  language,  'to  battle  for  the  Lord.' 
And  yet  I  found  in  my  own  mind  a  lurking  of  for- 
mer prejudices,  which,  notwithstanding  the  charm 
his  presence  threw  around  the  social  circle,  still  had 
an  influence  upon  my  feelings,  until  at  last  an  inci- 
dent occurred  which  satisfied  me  of  the  genuine  piety 
of  Maffitt,  and  unfolded  to  my  view,  to  some  extent 
at  least,  the  source  from  whence  came  his  power  in 
the  sacred  desk. 

"  He  was  asked  by  several  friends  to  preach  a  ser- 
mon upon  the  'Divinity  of  Je$us  Christ.'  In  ac- 
cordance with  that  request,  he  announced  from  the 
pulpit  of  the  old  Fourth-street  Church,  that,  on  the 
next  Sabbath  morning,  (which,  if  my  memory  is  not 
at  fault,  was  the  first  Sabbath  in  May,  1840,)  he 
would  deliver  a  discourse  upon  that  subject.  As 
was  usual  with  him,  he  had  appointments  for  Tues- 
day and  Thursday  evenings  of  the  week,  at  which 
he  did  not,  as  was  usual  with  him,  exhibit  that  bril- 
liancy of  thought  and  power  of  oratory  for  which  he 
was  so  preeminent.  On  Friday  and  Saturday,  he 
kept  his  room  closely.  Occasionally  I  called  on  him, 
and  found  him  pacing  the  floor  or  surrounded  with 
papers  strewn  in  every  direction.  I  thought  I  could 
observe  something  unusual  in  his  appearance,  so 


326         REV.    JOHN    NEWLAND    MAFFITT. 

much  so  as  to  produce  some  uneasiness  in  my  own 
mind.  I  therefore  approached  him  on  Saturday 
evening,  and  said,  '  Brother  Maffitt,  something 
seems  to  be  the  matter  with  you ;  can  I  render  you 
any  assistance  ?'  His  reply  was,  '  Brother,  my 
mental  anguish  is  almost  beyond  endurance ;  my 
heart  is  hard  as  a  rock ;  God  seems  to  have  left  me 
in  total  darkness ;  not  the  first  ray  of  light  has  yet 
flashed  upon  me  for  the  work  of  to-morrow.  And 
such  is  the  agony  of  my  mind  that  my  body  has 
broken  out  in  red  spots.'  Then  opening  his  bosom, 
I  was  astonished  to  see  the  appearance  which  pre- 
sented itself:  the  entire  chest  was  covered  with 
splotches  as  if  scorched  by  the  fire.  Said  he :  'If  I 
could  find  relief  to  my  mind,  this  would  pass  away. 
But,'  he  continued,  '  leave  me,  brother ;  I  must 
seek  relief  at  the  cross.'  I  left  him  and  retired  to 
my  room,  and  then  to  rest.  Late  at  night,  a  low 
murmur  from  his  room  awoke  me.  Fearing  he  was 
sick,  I  arose,  and  passing  through  the  hall  to  his 
door,  gently  opened  it,  and,  upon  looking  in,  I  found 
his  bed  yet  untouched.  Upon  the  opposite  side  of 
the  room  I  beheld  him  upon  his  knees,  with  the 
Bible  open  before  him  resting  upon  a  chair,  his  face 
upturned  toward  heaven ;  and  in  deepest  agony,  I 
heard  him  plead  with  God  to  assist  him  this  once,  if 
never  again,  to  present  to  the  people  their  hope  of 
salvation.  While  I  thus  stood  gazing,  as  I  thought, 


REV.    JOHN    NEWLAND    MAFFITT.         327 

upon  the  most  sublime  spectacle  I  ever  beheld,  the 

clock  in  the  hall  struck  three :  it  was  three  o'clock 

I 

Sunday  morning,  and  yet  his  bed  was  not  tumbled, 
nor  was  his  agony  at  the  foot  of  the  cross  subdued. 
I  turned  away  subdued  in  feeling,  with  every  vestige 
of  former  prejudice  gone,  and  with  a  determination 
in  future  to  be  charitable  to  all  mankind. 

"When  the  morning  came,  and  the  bright  sun  ush- 
ered in  the  Sabbath  day,  I  again  entered  his  room, 
and  found  him  sleeping  sweetly  and  soundly  as  if 
nothing  was  to  engage  his  attention  for  the  day. 
The  hour  for  preaching  had  nearly  arrived,  and  I 
awoke  him.  Then  he  was  himself  again  ;  bright  and 
elastic  as  a  bird.  He  had  wrestled  at  the  cross  in 
the  silence  of  night  until  God  had  heard  his  cry,  and 
granted  him  relief.  And  that  sermon  preached  -by 
Kev.  John  Newland  Maffitt,  on  that  first  Sabbath  in 
May,  1840,  in  St.  Louis,  upon  the  'Divinity  of 
Christ,'  is  still  fresh  in  the  memory  of  such  men  as 
Wesley  Browning  and  others,  still  remaining  to  bear 
record  of  its  power." 


DEMIS  AND  THE   PEIEST. 

A    DIALOGUE. 


DENNIS  AND  THE  PRIEST. 


A    DIALOGUE. 


"  GOOD  morning,  Dennis." 
"  Good  morning,  your  reverence." 
"  What  is  this  they  say  of  you,  Dennis  ?    I  am  told 
you  have  been  to  hear  the  preaching  of  the  soupers." 
"  You  have  been  told  the  truth,  your  reverence." 
"  And  how  could  you  dare  to  listen  to  heretics  ?" 
"  Please  your  reverence,  God  is  not  a  heretic ;  and 
it  is  the  word  of  God,  the  Bible,  that  they  read." 
"  Ay,  the  Bible  explained  by  a  minister." 
"No,  your   reverence;    the  Bible  explained  by 
itself;  for  when  it  is  allowed  to  speak,  it  explains 
itself  without  assistance   from   any  other  quarter; 
and  in  the  very  act  of  reading  it,  we  allow  it  to 
speak." 

"  But,  after  all,  the  minister  preaches ;  and  he  in- 
sists on  your  believing  what  he  preaches." 


332  DENNIS    AND    THE    PRIEST. 

"  No,  your  reverence ;  the  preacher  tells  us  not  to 
believe  on  his  word,  but  when  we  go  home,  to  ex- 
amine whether  it  contradicts  or  confirms  what  he  has 
delivered  from  the  pulpit." 

"  But,  don't  you  see  that  this  is  a  mere  sham ;  and 
that  you,  the  common  people,  cannot  examine  the 
Holy  Scriptures,  so  as  to  judge  whether  they  confirm 
or  contradict  what  the  preacher  says  ?" 

"  At  that  rate,  your  reverence,  St.  Luke  made  fools 
of  the  common  people ;  for  the  preacher  pointed  out 
to  us  a  passage  in  the  Bible  which  mentions  that  the 
Bereans  compared  the  preaching  of  the  Apostle  Paul 
with  the  Holy  Scriptures;  and  more  than  that,  St. 
Luke  commends  them  for  doing  so."  Acts  xvii,  11. 

"  Admirable,  Master  Dennis !  you  are  quite  a  doc- 
tor in  divinity!  You  know  as  much  as  a  whole 
synod  of  bishops !  Your  decisions  will  be  equal  to 
those  of  a  general  council !" 

"No,  your  reverence;  I  make  no  pretensions  to 
judge  for  other  persons ;  but  I  take  the  liberty  of 
judging  for  myself.  God  inspired  the  Bible :  I  read 
his  inspired  word,  and  that  is  all." 

"  But  you  are  not  able  to  understand  it." 

"  The  proof  that  I  can  is,  that  I  really  do  under- 
stand it.  I  understand  very  well  an  almanac  made 
by  an  ordinary  man.  Why  should  I  not  understand 
the  Bible,  which  has  God  for  its  author?  Cannot 
God  express  what  he  means  as  well  as  a  mere  mor- 


DENNIS    AND    THE    PRIEST.  338 

tal?  Besides,  the  Bible,  speaking  of  itself,  says  that 
it  is  '  a  light.'  "  Ps.  cxix,  105. 

"  Dennis,  you  are  obstinate  and  conceited." 

"  Your  reverence,  if  he  is  an  obstinate  man  who 
never  changes  his  opinion,  it  is  you  who  are  obsti- 
nate ;  but  as  for  me,  I  found  myself  in  a  bad  road, 
and  changed  for  a  better,  that  is  all.  I  have  never 
pretended  to  be  infallible." 

"  You  are  very  conceited  to  think  that  you  know 
so  much  more  than  others." 

"Others  are  not  very  humble  in  thinking  that 
they  know  more  than  God ;  but  it  is  to  God,  and  not 
to  my  fellow-men,  that  I  hold  myself  responsible." 

"I  must  tell  you  that  if  you  go  on  reasoning  in  this 
way,  I  shall  not  admit  you  to  confession." 

"  I  confess  myself." 

"  Not  to  me,  at  all  events  I" 

"No;  but  to  God." 

"To  God!" 

"  Yes ;  to  God,  who  declares  in  the  Bible  that '  if 
we  confess  our  sins,  he  is  faithful  and  just  to  forgive 
us  our  sins.'  '*  1  John  i,  9. 

"  The  Church  will  not  marry  you." 

"  I  will  get  married  elsewhere." 

"The  Church  will  not  bury  you." 

"  I  shall  not  trouble  myself  about  my  dead  body, 
if  I  save  my  soul." 

"You  will  be  excommunicated  1" 


334  DENNIS    AND    THE    PEIEST. 

"  No  matter,  if  I  am  received  by  God." 

"  No  prayers  shall  be  offered  for  you !" 

"I  shall  pray  for  myself." 

"No  masses  will  be  said  for  you  to  release  you 
from  purgatory !" 

"  They  would  be  of  no  use ;  for  I  reckon  on  going 
to  paradise." 

"  To  paradise,  do  you?" 

"  Yes ;  to  paradise." 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"Why  thus:  I  read  in  the  Bible  that  the  thief, 
when  hanging  on  the  cross  at  the  right  hand  of  Jesus, 
after  having  confessed  his  sins  to  Jesus  Christ,  who 
is  God,  said  to  him,  'Lord,  remember  me!'  'and  Jesus 
said  unto  him,  Verily  I  say  unto  thee,  to-day  shalt 
thou  be  with  me  in  paradise.'  Luke  xxiii,  41-43. 
If,  then,  a  penitent  malefactor  could  be  pardoned  by 
believing  on  Jesus  Christ,  I  cannot  see  why,  if  I 
repent,  and  trust  in  the  same  Saviour,  I  may  not 
equally  obtain  salvation ;  and  the  truth  that  my  hope 
is  well  founded  lies  in  what  I  have  read  in  the  same 
blessed  book,  that  'God  so  loved  the  world  that  he 
gave  his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth 
in  him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life.' 
John  iii,  16.  But  as  I  make  a  part  of  the  world 
here  spoken  of,  it  follows,  that  if  I  believe,  I  shall  be 
saved." 

"But  while  you  are  waiting  to  go  to  paradise, 


DENNIS    AND    THE    PRIEST.  835 

yon  must  live  in  this  world,  and  I  tell  you  plainly, 
that  you  will  lose  your  livelihood  by  joining  these 
heretics.  No  one  will  have  anything  to  do  with 

you." 

"  I  trust  in  Him  who  gives  us,  *  day  by  day,  our 
dayly  bread ;'  and  if  God  be  for  me,  what  can  all 
those  do  who  are  against  me  ?" 

"  You  will  be  a  laughing-stock  to  everybody." 

"And  what  will  that  signify?  Was  not  Jesus 
Christ  mocked  and  set  at  naught  ?" 

"  Everybody  will  shut  their  doors  against  you." 

"  Jesus  Christ  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head." 

"  You  will  be  called  an  apostate !" 

"  Was  not  St.  Paul  the  greatest  of  apostates  at  his 
conversion  ?" 

"Everybody  will  take  pleasure  in  refusing  to  do 
you  a  kindness !" 

"  The  world  persecuted  the  Master,  and,  therefore, 
may  well  persecute  his  disciples ;  and  the  more  I  am 
persecuted  for  my  faith,  the  more  I  shall  feel  that  I 
am  truly  a  disciple  of  Christ." 

"  Well !  we  shall  see  how  long  you  will  hold  out  I 
'First  of  all,  no  one  will  give  you  any  work." 

"  And  what  next  ?" 

"  "No  one  will  admit  you  under  his  roof." 

"And  what  next?" 

"  No  one  will  have  anything  to  do  with  you,  either 
in  buying  or  selling." 


336  DENNIS    AND    THE    PRIEST. 

"  And  what  next  ?" 

"  No  one  will  receive  you  into  his  society." 

"So  then  the  whole  world  will  conspire  against 
me?" 

"  Certainly !" 

"And  who  will  be  at  the  head  of  the  conspira- 
tors?" 

"  Who  !  who !  what  does  that  signify  ?" 

"  At  all  events,  whosoever  he  may  be,  you  may  tell 
him  that  he  is  not  a  Christian,  for  Christ  commands 
us  to  forgive  offenses,  while  this  man  indulges 
revenge.  Jesus  commands  men  to  love  one  another, 
and  this  man  appears  quite  disposed  to  hate  me. 
Should  he  happen  to  be  a  priest,  you  may  tell  him 
that  his  prototypes  were  the  members  of  the  Sanhe- 
drim, who,  through  hatred,  condemned  Jesus  to  death. 
Should  he  be  an  Ultramontane,  you  may  tell  him 
that  I  am  astonished  at  nothing  done  by  him,  and  by 
those  who  invented  vthe  Inquisition.  Lastly,  should 
it  be  yourself,  be  assured  that  your  vengeful  spirit 
is  to  me  the  best  proof  that  you  are  not  in  the  truth. 
Christ  said,  'Forgive,'  and  you  take  vengeance. 
Christ  said,  'Teach  all  nations,'  and  you  refuse 
even  to  let  them  read  the  Bible.  'Freely  ye  have 
received,  freely  give,'  (Matt,  x,  8,)  and  you  sell, 
not,  indeed,  the  Gospel,  for  that  you  conceal,  but 
you  sell  your  masses,  your  prayers,  your  dispensa- 
tions, your  rosaries,  your  tapers,  your  indulgences, 


DENNIS    AND    THE    PRIEST.  387 

your  baptisms,  your  interments;  but  as  for  me, 
I  can  make  shift  to  do  without  any  of  your  wares, 
while  I  apply  to  that  God  who  gives  heaven  gra- 
tuitously." 

"  Gratuitously  1" 

"  Yes,  gratuitously !  and  this  it  is  that  vexes  you  1 
For  when  a  blessing  is  bestowed  gratuitously,  the 
concurrence  of  those  who  sell  is  not  wanted.  Yes, 
gratuitously!  this  one  word  is  ruinous  to  all  your 
schemes.  God  gives  and  you  sell.  God  pardons  and 
you  punish.  God  loves  and  you  hate.  How  can  you 
expect  that  we  should  not  go  to  God,  or  wonder  that 
we  do  not  come  to  you  ?  But  act  toward  me  just  as 
you  please ;  I  have  learned  not  to  fear  those  who  can 
kill  the  body ;  but  only  to  fear  those  who  can  destroy 
the  soul ;  in  other  words,  I  stand  in  no  awe  of  you." 

"  You  are  an  insolent  fellow." 

"  I  am  not ;  but  I  have  the  courage  to  speak 
the  truth." 

"  You  are  impious  !" 

"  I  have  been  so,  while  bending  the  knee  before 
images  of  wood  or  stone ;  but  I  have  ceased  to  be  so, 
since  I  have  believed  in  the  living  God,  and  trusted 
only  in  my  Saviour." 

"  You  are  a  miserable  wretch." 

"Yes,  a  miserable  sinner;  but  a  penitent  and 
humble  sinner,  I  trust,  whom  God  has  pardoned." 

"  You  will  always  be  a — " 


338  DENNIS    AND    THE    PRIEST. 

"  What  I  shall  be  I  do  not  know,  but  I  know  what 
I  wish  to  be.  I  wish  for  the  future  to  live  in  purity, 
because  it  was  precisely  my  sins  that  crucified  the 
Saviour.  I  wish  to  be  sincere,  just,  and  charitable, 
because  Jesus  has  been  so  good  as  to  give  me  every- 
thing. Allow  me  to  tell  you  what  kind  of  person  1 
am.  When  persons  love  me  I  love  them  in  return ; 
when  they  do  me  a  favor  I  wish  to  return  it  twofold .; 
the  more  generous  others  are  toward  me,  the  more 
grateful  I  feel.  Well !  and  has  not  God  been  gener- 
ous to  me  more  than  I  have  words  to  express  ?  He 
has  granted  me  pardon,  and  heaven,  and  eternity. 
Thus  my  heart  bounds  with  joy,  and  I  am  ready  to 
do  all  God  requires  of  me  ;  but  what  he  requires  of 
me  is  most  delightful.  It  is  to  love  him  and  love  my 
brethren,  to  love  even  you,  reverend  sir." 

"  I  do  not  want  your  love." 

"  I  shall  not  the  less  pray  for  you." 

"  I  do  not  want  your  prayers." 

"  See  the  difference  between  us,  your  reverence. 
I  love  you,  and  you  hate  me.  I  offer  you  my 
prayers,  and  you  refuse  me  yours.  But  Jesus  Christ 
has  said,  '  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them ;  do 
men  gather  grapes  of  thorns  or  figs  of  thistles  ?' 
Matt,  vii,  16.  Judge  now,  reverend  sir,  which  of  us, 
you  or  I,  is  the  disciple  of  Jesus  Christ." 


THE 


HOPE  OF  CITIES  ILLUSTRATED, 

A  PLEA  FOR  SABBATH  SCHOOLS. 


22 


THE 

HOPE   OF  CITIES  ILLUSTRATED. 


GEEAT  cities  are  always  greatly  wicked.  There  is 
not  a  great  city  on  earth  at  this  day,  nor  did  one 
ever  exist,  from  Sodom  to  St.  Louis,  from  Nineveh  to 
New- York,  from  Babylon  to  Baltimore,  from  Persep- 
olis  to  Paris,  that  does  not  exemplify  the  truth  of 
this  remark.  "When  we  say  greatly  wicked,  we 
would  not  be  understood  as  overlooking  the  fact, 
that  the  world  everywhere  lieth  in  wickedness.  But 
a  rural  population,  remote  from  cities,  is  much  less 
given  to  crime,  corruption,  and  degradation,  than  the 
same  number  of  persons  in  a  city  relation.  Nor 
would  we  intimate  that  many  pious  Lots  are  not  to 
be  found  in  large  cities.  But  Lot  and  his  family 
in  Sodom,  scarcely  unappropriately  represent  how 
far  these  persons  are  in  the  minority.  There  is 
scarcely  a  city  on  this  continent,  of  any  notable 
magnitude,  in  which  the  house  of  her  "  whose  steps 
take  hold  on  hell,"  the  gambling  saloon,  the  pestifer- 
ous dram-shop,  and  the  theater,  do  not  receive  from 


342    THE    HOPE    OF    CITIES    ILLUSTRATED. 

five  to  fifty  visitors  every  Sabbath-day,  for  one  who 
attends  an  evangelical  church.  Hence  it  is,  that 
Christian  churches  in  cities,  of  all  denominations,  by 
recent  investigations,  are  found  to  be  doing  little 
more  than  holding  their  own ;  exerting  a  feebly  con- 
servative, rather  than  an  aggressive  influence.  Who 
can  contemplate  these  facts  without  profound  feel- 
ing? especially,  as  great  cities  are  the  natural 
product  of  social  laws.  We  cannot  do  without  them. 
Their  existence  cannot  be  hindered,  and  the  more 
rapid  their  growth,  generally,  the  greater  the  profli- 
gacy of  their  infancy;  and  how  rapid  the  growth 
of  cities  in  this  nation  needs  no  mention.  But 
especially  does  one  tremble  at  the  corruption  of  large 
cities,  in  view  of  their  corrupting  influence  upon  the 
country,  recently  enhanced  a  hundredfold  by  reason 
of  railroads  and  other  increased  facilities  for  travel. 
The  theater  bill  is  sent  many  miles  into  the  coun- 
try in  the  morning,  and,  responsive  to  its  call,  the 
recipients — the  newly  seduced  votaries  of  wanton- 
ness and  wine — are  found  in  the  evening  where  mer- 
cenary destruction  can  place  its  hand  in  their  pockets 
and  look  its  infernal  charms  into  their  hearts. 

The  city  is  full  of  the  hopelessly  abandoned.  Per- 
haps it  is  wrong  to  say  any  should  be  considered 
hopelessly  abandoned.  Well,  we  will  not  discuss 
the  doctrine  in  the  abstract.  We  would  not  have 
Christian  zeal  cease  effort  in  any  direction  as  hope- 


THE    HOPE    OF   CITIES    ILLUSTRATED.    343 

less.  But  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  facts  occur  in  cities 
dayly  to  justify  our  assertion,  and  for  ourself  we 
must  say,  that  if  a  line  anywhere  is  to.  be  found  this 
side  of  the  prison-walls  of  lost  souls,  beyond  which 
humanity  seems  to  have  reached  a  point  in  the  de- 
scending scale  of  degradation,  that  hope  cannot  get 
down  to,  it  is  to  be  found  in  great  cities.  Here,  sen- 
suality riots,  and  rots  in  its  excesses.  Here,  despera- 
tion seeks  death,  and  it  is  not  long  in  finding  it. 
Here  bevies  of  seductionists,  like  the  web  of  the 
spider  in  every  nook  and  corner  of  a  deserted  dwell- 
ing, spread  out  their  seen  and  unseen  meshes.  Here, 
the  burglar  and  the  robber,  under  a  hundred  types 
of  character,  watch  for  their  unsuspecting  victim  and 
the  spoils.  Here,  the  place  of  drunken  revels  boils 
like  a  pot  of  fire  and  brimstone.  Here,  mendicancy 
and  pauperism  come  to  perfection,  and  drag  along 
their  lank  forms,  or  stretch  out  their  skeleton  hands 
in  want,  dripping  from  the  rakings  of  the  gutter  or 
black  with  the  late  incendiary  brands,  all  along  the 
alleys  and  purlieus  of  filth  and  wretchedness.  Before 
the  wine-glass,  authority  lays  down  its  mace,  and  the 
police  are  often  found  the  patrons  and  protectors,  not 
of  those  who  should  be  protected,  but  of  the  very 
nuisances  they  are  commissioned  to  abate.  In 
municipal  liquor  licenses,  generic  sinning  is  provided 
for  by  law.  Regulated  sin  is  systematized  damna- 
tion. It  doubles  and  twists,  multiplies  and  directs  its 


344  THE    HOPE    OP    CITIES    ILLUSTRATED. 

power  like  powder  in  the  cannon's  throat  or  steam  in 
the  engine. 

Against  this  Gibraltar  of  Satanic  power,  a  few  pul- 
pits weekly  raise  their  scathing  remonstrance.  But 
still  the  great  fastnesses  of  evil  remain  unshaken. 
Those  most  needy  of  the  expostulations  of  the  pulpit, 
are  most  certain  to  be  found  beyond  its  reach.  The 
truth  is,  there  always  will  be  found  in  cities,  so  far  as 
mere  logic  can  come  to  conclusions,  large  masses  of 
adults  who  never  can  be  gotten  within  the  embrace 
of  the  Church.  "We  might  offer  many  reasons  for 
this  sad  conclusion,  but  have  only  space  now  to  name 
it,  and  will  mention  but  one,  namely :  The  pulpit  has 
ceased  to  elicit  attendance  on  the  mere  ground  of 
novelty  or  curiosity.  It  was  not  always  so.  When 
the  lost  institution  of  preaching  was  restored  to  the 
Church  by  the  reformers,  when  Protestantism  first 
commenced  to  talk,  and  talk  with  a  tongue  of  fire, 
the  pulpit  had  an  influence  over  the  mass,  ridiculed 
and  persecuted  as  it  was,  that  it  has  not  now.  These 
were  times,  also,  when,  if  the  mass  heard  anything 
new,  they  must  look  to  oral  sources  for  it.  The  pop- 
ular press  was  not  then,  as  now,  omnipresent.  That 
the  Sunday-morning  newspaper  is  a  mighty  anti- 
church-attendance  institution,  it  would  be  quite  easy 
to  show.  As  to  the  gratuitous  distribution  of  the  relig- 
ious book  or  tract  among  the  class  we  are  now  speak- 
ing of,  though  they  have  not  lost  their  power,  yet 


THE    HOPE    OF    CITIES    ILLUSTBATED.    345 

their  power  is  waning,  and  their  very  presence  begins 
to  excite  suspicion.  What,  then,  we  ask,  can  be  done 
for  this  heaving  mass  of  the  population  of  great  cities 
which  the  voice  of  the  holy  altar  cannot  reach ;  this 
territory  of  paganism  lying  under  the  very  shadow  of 
our  church  steeples  ?  Well,  what  if  we  should  sup- 
pose that  we  could  do  very  little  for  many  of  them, 
the  inference,  painful  as  it  is,  is  no  new  one.  The 
Church  cannot  save  everybody,  and  when  it  is  said 
to  the  faithful,  "Be  of  good  cheer,  for  it  is  your 
Father's  good  pleasure  to  give  you  the  kingdom,"  we 
will  not  shroud  our  pulpit  in  sackcloth  and  seek  to 
go  to  heaven  in  crape  because  everybody  will  not  go 
with  us.  "Fret  not  thyself  because  of  evil  doers." 

But  we  have  one  ground  of  hope  left  us  in  refer- 
ence to  reaching  the  church-neglecting  families  of 
the  city.  Ay,  we  have  just  planted  our  foot  on  this 
ground.  The  family  !  yes,  the  family  !  Wherever 
the  family  exists,  the  Church  can  reach  the  lost. 
Not  that  she  will  always  be  successful  with  the 
parents,  but  she  need  seldom  be  unsuccessful  with 
the  children.  Not  that  she  need  entertain  sanguine 
hopes  of  this  generation,  but  she  may  of  the  next.  It 
would  seem  that  the  Sabbath  school  was  invented 
and  inaugurated  just  at  the  proper  time  to  aid  the 
Church  in  this  great  emergence.  If  the  preacher 
cannot  get  at  the  parents,  the  Sabbath-school  teacher 
can  at  the  children.  With  proper  diplomacy,  he 


346  THE    HOPE    OF    CITIES    ILLUSTRATED. 


1  seldom  be  denied  access,  and  this,  perhaps,  is 
the  only  way  of  access  to  the  parents'  heart.  In  our 
experience,  we  have  found  it  the  Appian  Way  to 
that  citadel.  We  regard  the  faithful  Sabbath-school 
teacher,  the  company  of  laymen  who  organize  and 
successfully  prosecute  a  Sabbath-school  enterprise  in 
our  cities,  as  being  the  first  of  philanthropists,  as  ex- 
emplifying the  ripest  of  moral  and  religious  senti- 
ments, and  as  doing  a  work  in  which  the  pastor  may 
aid,  but  a  work  that  can  only  be  done  by  them.  We 
consider  the  Sabbath  school  as  the  only  hope  for  city 
heathenism.  The  Church  has  no  other  means  by 
which  she  can  enlighten  its  darkness,  or  penetrate 
its  interior.  And  yet,  alas  !  the  lay  power  of  the 
Church  is  comparatively  asleep  over  this  great  sub- 
ject. It  is  a  department  of  usefulness,  in  which  a 
goodly  degree  of  success  is  never  doubtful.  How 
pleasing  to  labor  when  one  is  always  certain  of  reap- 
ing what  he  sows,  and  that  his  harvest  will  be  pro 
portionate  to  his  efforts ;  and  that  this  is  true  con- 
cerning Sabbath  schools,  reference  need  only  be 
made  to  their  history.  Churches  may  be  established, 
seemingly  prosperous  and  permanent,  and  yet  they 
may  wane  and  die  out  as  one  of  the  seven  Churches 
of  the  Apocalypse.  But  no  vigorous  Sabbath  school 
ever  existed  long  whose  fruits  could  not  be  traced, 
not  only  many  days,  but  many  years  hence.  The 
impress  of  the  hand  of  the  evangelist  upon  the 


THE    HOPE    OP    CITIES   ILLUSTRATED.     347 

childish  heart  is  ineffaceable.  Like  the  first  foot- 
prints of  animal  life  in  the  strata  of  geology,  they  are 
more  vivid  than  the  impressions  of  comparative  yes- 
terday. The  impressions  are  made  in  soft  clay,  but 
preserved  in  imperishable  marble. 

These  reflections  were  induced  by  reading  recently, 
in  the  New- York  Independent,  an  account  of  the  re- 
markable success  of  a  Sabbath  school,  organized  in 
Brooklyn,  on  Lee  Avenue,  by  sundry  zealous  laymen 
of  the  Reformed  Dutch  Church.  It  was  organized 
in  May,  1853,  but  little  over  three  years  ago,  the 
school  being  opened  in  a  little  out-house,  with  eight 
scholars  and  three  teachers.  In  less  than  a  year  from 
that  time,  the  school  numbered  forty  scholars  and 
nine  teachers.  An  effort  was  then  made  to  raise 
means  to  build  a  suitable  house  for  the  school,  and 
also  one  that  should  answer  for  a  place  of  worship, 
when  twelve  thousand  dollars  were  raised,  and  a 
commodious  building  was  erected.  Under  these 
auspices,  by  the  beginning  of  the  year  1855,  the 
roll-book  of  this  city  suburban  school  contained  the 
names  of  twenty-five  teachers,  and  one  hundred  and 
fifty  scholars.  The  tide  having  thus  commenced  to 
swell,  it  rolled  on  with  accelerated  force,  until  we 
have  the  following  account  of  its  marvelous  success, 
which  we  here  quote  from  the  pen  of  a  participant 
in  this  great  work,  together,  also,  with  some  account 
of  the  mode  of  conducting  the  school : 


348    THE    HOPE    OF    CITIES    ILLUSTRATED. 

"The  number  of  scholars  whose  names  are  now 
(July,  1856)  on  the  register  is  919  ;  and  the  number 
actually  in  attendance  at  a  session  of  the  school,  in  the 
warm  month  of  July,  when  Sunday  schools  show  their 
lowest  figures,  was  as  great  as  632  !  The  present  list 
of  teachers  numbers  precisely  100,  while  the  average 
attendance  is  77.  About  400  of  the  scholars  regu- 
larly attend  the  services  of  the  church,  and  form  no 
inconsiderable  part  of  the  congregation.  The  library 
contains  1,600  volumes,  a  part  of  which  are  set  aside 
as  the  '  Congregational  Library,'  for  the  use  of  the 
Sunday-school  teachers,  and  of  members  of  the  con- 
gregation. The  contributions  by  the  children,  for  the 
last  year,  amounted  to  $500.  During  the  last  four- 
teen months  the  scholars  have  recited,  in  the  New 
Testament,  56,604  verses;  in  the  Sunday-school 
Hymn  Book,  40,779  ;  and  Scripture  Proofs,  4,268 — 
making  a  total  of  101,651.  Such  results  in  a  school, 
which  is  now  only  three  years  old,  and  which  at  first 
contained  hardly  a  single  element  that  gave  promise 
of  success,  are  truly  gratifying  and  wonderful,  and 
call  for  devout  gratitude  to  God  for  his  prospering 
providence. 

"The  modes  of  carrying  on  the  operations  of  the 
school  seemed  to  be  as  complete  as  possible.   Nothing 
which  promises  to  make  the  Sunday  school   more 
attractive  or  efficient  is  left  untried.     A  printed  con 
stitution  is  put  into  the  hands  of  every  one  connected 


THE    HOPE    OP    CITIES    ILLUSTRATED.   349 

with  the  management  of  the  school,  in  which  his 
specific  duties  are  clearly  defined.  Every  teacher  is 
famished  with  a  manual,  prepared  by  the  superin- 
tendent, containing  valuable  suggestions  and  friendly 
counsel.  New  scholars,  as  they  are  enrolled  on  the 
register,  are  presented  with  an  ornamental  certificate, 
which  contains  a  schedule  of  the  duties  which  they 
are  expected  to  perform.  When  a  teacher  is  not 
present  in  his  seat,  a  printed  note  is  sent  to  him  by 
the  superintendent,  requesting  an  immediate  answer 
to  the  cause  of  absence,  that  it  may  be  directly 
entered  in  the  { absentee  register.'  When  a  scholar 
is  absent,  he  is  visited  by  the  teacher  during  the 
week,  'without  fail,  and  the  result  of  the  visit  is  re- 
ported to  the  superintendent.  Such  arrangements, 
thoroughly  carried  out  as  they  are,  tend  greatly  to 
increase  the  interest  of  scholars  and  teachers  in  each 
other,  and  in  the  school.  As  a  natural  result,  the 
attendance  is  regular  and  large.  The  superintendent, 
in  a  recent  annual  report,  says  : 

" '  The  children  are  very  much  devoted  and  attach- 
ed to  the  school.  They  like  to  come,  and  do  come 
through  almost  all  kinds  of  weather.  On  the  Sab- 
bath after  the  great  snow-storm,  January  5,  the 
attendance  numbered  upward  of  200.  Hardly  a 
shoveled  path  in  the  neighborhood  was  to  be  found, 
and  yet  many  waded  through  the  snow,  over  a  mile, 
to  be  at  school.  Sometimes  they  might  be  seen  on 


350    THE    HOPE    OF    CITIES    ILLUSTRATED. 

the  tops  of  the  fences,  and  sometimes  trying  to  force 
their  way  through  the  almost  mountains  of  snow- 
drifts on  every  side.' " 

The  superintendent  of  this  great  vitally  'reform 
school  is  Jeremiah  Johnson,  Esq.,  one  of  the  three 
teachers  who  made  the  first  "beginning.  He  has  pur 
posely  erected  his  dwelling  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Sabbath  school,  and  devotes  nearly  his  whole 
time  to  the  enterprise,  together  with  the  proceeds  of 
a  liberal  fortune  with  which  Providence  has  favored 
him.  Is  not  this  an  example  worthy  to  be  remem- 
bered and  followed?  A  recent  visitor  to  this  school 
concludes  a  communication  concerning  it  in  these 
words : 

"  The  Lee  Avenue  Sunday  School  is  the  greatest 
marvel  to  its  best  friends.  No  adequate  idea  can  be 
given  of  the  extent  and  character  of  its  operations  by 
a  simple  presentation  of  statistics.  A  well-known 
Sunday-school  visitor  exclaimed  on  seeing  it,  that  he 
had  never  seen  a  Sunday  school  before.  Every 
stranger  who  visits  it  is  astonished.  It  is  a  growing 
light,  kindled  by  the  good  providence  of  God  in  a 
dark  place ;  and  we  hope  that  it  may  not  be  confined 
within  its  own  special  circle,  but  shine  as  a  benefi- 
cent example  over  the  whole  land." 

As,  in  military  operations,  a  walled  city  can  rarely 
be  successfully  sacked  but  by  undermining  its  foun- 
dations, so  the  moral  Sebastopols  of  evil  that  wax  so 


THE    HOPE    OF    CITIES    ILLUSTRATED.     351 

huge  and  formidable  in  our  very  midst  will  only 
yield  by  sapping  their  foundations.  The  prattler  of 
the  cradle,  and  the  one,  but  a  little  larger,  who  would 
venture  to  dispute  the  right  of  place  with  him,  con- 
stitute the  foundation  stones  of  these  strongholds  of 
iniquity  and  their  festering  fruits.  The  Sabbath 
school  here  sustains  the  relation  of  sapper  and  miner 
to  the  Church  militant,  and  is,  we  believe,  the  HOPE 

OF  GREAT  CITIES. 


THE 


POOR    WASHERWOMAN. 

BY  MRS.   CAROLINE  A.   SOULE. 


THE  POOR  WASHERWOMAN. 


"I  DECLABE,  I  have  half  a  mind  to  put  this  bed- 
quilt  into  the  wash  to-day ;  it  don't  really  need  to 
go,  either,  but  I  believe  that  I'll  send  it  down."  . 

"  Why  will  you  put  it  in,  Mary,  if  it  does  not  need 
to  go?"  asked  her  good  old  Aunt  Hannah,  in  her 
quiet  and  expressive  way. 

"Why,  you  see,  aunt,  we  have  but  a  small  wash 
to-day ;  so  small  that  Susan  will  get  through  by  one 
o'clock  at  the  latest,  and  I  shall  have  to  pay  her  the 
same  as  though  she  worked  till  night,  so — " 

"Stop  a  moment,  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  gently, 
"  stop  a  moment  and  think.  Suppose  you  were  in 
the  situation  poor  Susan  is,  obliged,  you  tell  me,  to 
toil  over  the  wash-tub  six  days  out  of  the  seven,  for 
the  bare  necessaries  of  life,  would  you  not  be  glad, 
once  in  a  while,  to  get  through  before  night,  to  have 
a  few  hours  of  daylight  to  labor  for  yourself  and 
family,  or,  better  still,  a  few  hours  to  rest?  Mary, 

dear,  it  is  a  hard,  hard  way  for  a  woman  to  earn  a 

23 


356  THE    POOR    WASHERWOMAN. 

living;  begrudge  not  the  poor  creature  the  half  dol- 
lar. This  is  the  fourth  day  in  succession  she  has 
risen  by  candle-light  and  plodded  through  the  cold 
here  and  there  to  her  customers'  houses,  and  toiled 
away  existence.  Let  her  go  at  noon  if  she  get 
through  ;  who  knows  but  that  she  may  have  come 
from  the  sick  couch  of  some  loved  one,  and  that  she 
counts  the  hours,  yes,  the  minutes,  till  she  can  return, 
fearing  even  she  may  come  one  too  late.  Put  it  back 
on  the  bed,  and  sit  down  here  while  I  tell  you  what 
one  poor  washerwoman  endured,  because  her  em- 
ployer did  as  you  would  to  make  out  the  wash." 
And  the  old  woman  took  off  her  glasses  and  wiped 
away  the  tear  drops,  that,  from  some  cause,  had  gath- 
ered in  her  aged  eyes,  and  then  with  a  tremulous 
voice  related  the  promised  story : 

"  There  was  never  a  more  blithesome  bridal  than 
that  of  Adeline  Raleigh's.  There  was  never  a  maid- 
en who  went  to  the  marriage  altar  with  higher 
hopes,  more  blissful  anticipations.  Wedding  the 
man  of  her  choice,  he  whose  love-tones  had  ever 
thrilled  her  heart  like  a  music  gush  from  the  land  of 
light,  he  who  was  dearer  to  her  than  her  own  exist- 
ence, a  young,  talented,  noble  fellow,  one  of  whom 
any  woman  might  be  proud,  it  was  no  wonder  that 
morn  seemed  a  golden  waif  from  Eden.  Few,  in- 
deed, have  a  sunnier  life  in  prospect  than  had  she. 

"And  for  ten  years  there  fell  no  shadow  on  her 


THE    POOR    WASHERWOMAN.  357 

path.  Her  home  was  one  of  beauty  and  rare  luxury, 
her  husband  the  same  kind,  gentle,  loving  man,  as 
in  the  days  of  courtship,  winning  laurels  every  year, 
in  his  profession,  adding  new  comforts  to  his  home 
and  new  joys  to  his  fireside;  and  besides  these  bless- 
ings, God  had  given  another;  a  little  crib  stood  by 
her  bedside,  its  tenant,  a  golden-haired  baby-boy,  the 
image  of  its  noble  father,  and  dearer  to  those  wedded 
lovers,  than  aught  else  earth  could  offer. 

"  But  I  must  not  dwell  on  those  happy  days  ;  my 
story  has  to  do  with  other  ones.  It  was  with  them 
as  oft  it  is  with  others;  just  when  the  cup  is  sweetest, 
it  is  dashed  away ;  just  when  the  beam  is  brightest, 
the  clouds  gather.  A  series  of  misfortunes  and  re- 
verses occurred  with  startling  rapidity,  and  swept 
away  from  them  everything  but  love  and  their  baby- 
boy.  Spared  to  one  another  and  to  that,  they  bore 
a  brave  heart,  and  in  a  distant  city  began  a  new  for- 
tune. Well  and  strongly  did  they  struggle,  and  at 
length  began  once  more  to  see  the  sunlight  of  pros- 
perity shine  upon  their  home.  But  a  little  while  it 
stayed,  and  then  the  shadows  fell.  The  husband  sick- 
ened and  lay  for  many  a  month  upon  a  weary  couch, 
languishing  not  only  with  mental  and  bodily  pain, 
but  oftentimes  for  food  and  medicines.  All  that  she 
could  do,  the  wife  performed  with  a  faithful  hand. 
She  went  from  one  thing  to  another,  till,  at  length, 
she  who  had  worn  a  satin  garb  and  pearls  upon  her 


358  THE    POOR    WASHERWOMAN. 

bridal  day,  toiled  at  the  wash-tub  for  the  scantiest 
living.  Long  before  light  she  would  rise  every  morn- 
ing, and  labor  for  the  dear  ones  of  her  lowly  home, 
and  then,  with  many  a  kiss  upon  the  lips  of  her  pale 
companion  and  sleeping  boy,  start  out  through  the 
cold,  deep  snow,  and  grope  her  way  to  the  too  often 
smoky,  gloomy  kitchen,  and  toil  there  at  rubbing, 
pounding,  rinsing,  starching,  not  unfrequently  wading 
knee  deep  in  the  drifts,  to  hang  out  the  clothes  thai 
froze  even  ere  she  had  fastened  them  to  the  line. 
And  when  night  came,  with  her  half  dollar,  she 
would  again  grope  through  the  cold  and  snow  to  her 
ofttimes  lightless  and  fireless  home,  for  her  husband 
was  too  sick  much  of  the  time,  to  tend  even  the  fire 
or  strike  a  light.  And  O,  with  what  a  shivering 
.heart  she  would  draw  near  them,  fearing  ever  she 
would  be  too  late.  It  is  a  fact,  that  for  six  weeks,  at 
one  time,  she  never  saw  the  face  of  her  husband  or 
her  child,  save  by  lamplight,  except  only  on  the  Sab- 
bath. How  glad  she  would  have  been  to  have  once 
in  a  while  a  small  washing  gathered  for  her ! 

"  One  dark  winter  morning,  as  she  was  busy  pre- 
paring the  frugal  breakfast  and  getting  everything 
ready  ere  she  left,  her  husband  called  her  to  the  bed- 
side. 

"  '  Ada,'  said  he,  in  almost  a  whisper,  '  I  want  you 
should  try  and  get  home  early  to-night ;  be  home  be- 
fore sundown,  do,  Ada.' 


THE    POOR    WASHERWOMAN".  359 

" '  I'll  try,'  answered  she  with  a  choked  utterance. 

"  'Do  try,  Ada.  I  have  a  strange  desire  to  see  your 
face  by  sunlight ;  to-day  is  Friday ;  I  have  not  seen 
it  since  Sunday  ;  I  must  look  upon  it  once  again.' 

" '  Do  you  feel  worse,  Edward  V  asked  she  anxious- 
ly, feeling  his  pulse  as  she  spoke. 

"  *  No,  no,  I  think  not ;  but  I  do  want  to  see  your 
face  once  more  by  sunlight.  I  cannot  wait  till  Sun 
day.' 

.  "Gladly  would  she  tarry  by  his  bedside  till  the  sun- 
light should  have  stolen  through  their  little  window, 
but  it  might  not  be.  She  was  penniless,  and  in  the 
dusk  of  morning  must  go  forth  to  labor.  She  left 
him,  sweet  kisses  were  given  and  taken,  and  sweet 
words  whispered  in  the  sweetest  love-tones.  She 
reached  the  kitchen  of  her  employer,  and  with  a 
troubled  face  waited  for  the  basket  to  be  brought. 
A  beautiful  smile  played  over  her  wan  face  as  she 
assorted  its  contents.  She  could  get  through  easily 
by  two  o'clock,  yes,  and  if  she  hurried,  perhaps  by 
one.  Love  and  anxiety  lent  new  strength  to  her 
weary  arms ;  and  five  minutes  after  the  clock  struck 
one,  she  hangs  the  last  garment  on  the  line,  and  was 
just  about  emptying  her  tubs,  when  the  mistress 
came  in  with  a  couple  of  bed-quilts,  and  saying, 

"lAs  you  have  so  small  a  wash  to-day,  Adeline, 
I  think  you  may  do  these  yet,'  left  the  room 
again.  A  wail  of  agony,  wrung  from  the  deepest 


860  THE    POOR    WASHERWOMAN. 

fountain  of  her  heart,  gushed  to  her  lips.  Smother- 
ing it  as  best  she  could,  she  again  took  up  the  board 
and  rubbed,  rinsed,  and  hung  out.  It  was  half  past 
three,  when  again  she  started  for  home,  an  hour  to6 
late  /"  and  the  aged  narrator  sobbed. 

"An  hour  too  late,"  continued  she,  after  a  long 
pause.  "  Her  husband  was  dying,  yes,  almost  gone  ! 
He  had  strength  given  him  to  whisper  a  few  words 
to  the  half-frantic  wife,  to  tell  her  how  he  had  longed 
to  look  upon  her  face,  and  that  till  the  clock  struck 
two,  he  could  see,  but  after  that,  though  he  strained 
every  nerve,  he  lay  in  the  shadow  of  death;  one 
hour  she  pillowed  his  head  upon  her  suffering  heart, 
and  then — he  was  at  rest ! 

"  But  for  the  thoughtless  or  grudging  exaction  of 
her  mistress,  she  had  once  more  seen  the  love-light 
flash  in  her  husband's  eyes,  and  he  have  looked  upon 
her  who  was  so  dear. 

"Mary,  Mary  dear,"  and  there  was  a  soul-touch- 
ing emphasis  in  the  aged  woman's  words,  "  be  kind 
to  your  washerwoman ;  instead  of  striving  to  make 
her  day's  work  as  long  as  may  be,  shorten  it,  light- 
en it. 

"  Few  women  will  go  out  to  dayly  washing  unless 
their  needs  are  terrible.  No  woman  on  her  bridal 
day  expects  to  labor  in  that  way ;  and  be  sure,  my 
niece,  if  constrained  to  do  so,  it  is  the  last  resort 
That  poor  woman  laboring  now  so  hard  for  you,  has 


THE    POOR    WASHERWOMAN.  361 

not  always  been  a  washerwoman.  She  has  seen 
bright,  gladsome  hours.  She  has  seen  awfiil  trials, 
too.  I  can  read  her  story  in  her  pale,  sad  face.  Be 
kind  to  her,  pay  her  all  she  asks,  and  let  her  go  home 
as  early  as  she  can." 

#  #  *  #  *  # 

"  You  have  finished  in  good  season  to-day,  Susan," 
said  Mi's.  Merton,  as  the  washerwoman,  with  her  old 
cloak  and  hood  on,  entered  the  pleasant  chamber  to 
ask  her  pay. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  that  I  have,  and  my  heart,  ma'am, 
is  relieved  of  a  heavy  load,  too.  I  was  so  afraid  I 
should  be  kept  till  night,  and  I  am  needed  so  at 
home." 

"Is  there  sickness  there?"  said  Aunt  Hannah, 
kindly. 

Tears  gushed  to  the  woman's  eyes  as  she  answered, 
"  Ah,  ma'am,  I  left  my  baby  most  dead  this  morn- 
ing; he  will  be  quite  so  to-morrow;  I  know  it,  I 
have  seen  it  too  many  times,  and  none  but  a  child  of 
nine  years  to  attend  it.  O,  I  must  go,  and  quickly." 
And  grasping  the  money,  the  hard-earned  money 
that  she  had  toiled  for,  while  her  baby  was  dying, 
that  when  dead  it  might  have  a  decent  shroud,  she 
hurried  to  her  dreary  home. 

They  followed  her ;  the  young  wife  who  had  never 
known  a  sorrow,  and  the  aged  matron  whose  hair 
was  white  with  trouble,  followed  her  to  her  home, 


362  THE   POOR    WASHERWOMAN. 

the  home  of  the  drunkard's  wife,  the  drunkard  3 
babes.  She  was  not  too  late.  The  wee  dying  boy 
knew  its  mother,  yet  craved  a  draught  from  her  loving 
breast.  Until  midnight  she  pillowed  him  there,  and 
then  kind  hands  took  from  her  the  breathless  form, 
closed  the  bright  eyes,  straightened  the  tiny  limbs, 
bathed  the  cold  clay,  and  folded  about  it  the  pure 
white  shroud,  yes,  and  did  more.  They  gave,  what 
the  poor  so  seldom  have,  time  to  weep. 

"  O,  aunt,"  said  Mrs.  Merton,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  as,  having  seen  the  little  coffined  babe  borne  to 
its  last  home,  they  returned  to  their  own  happy  one ; 
"  if  my  heart  blesses  you,  how  much  more  must  poor 
Susan's !  Had  it  not  been  for  you,  she  would  have 
been  too  late,  the  baby  would  not  have  known  its 
mother.  It  has  been  a  sad,  yet  holy  lesson  ;  I  shall 
always  now  be  kind  to  the  poor  washerwoman.  But, 
aunt,  was  the  story  you  told  me  a  true  one — all  true, 
I  mean?" 

"The  reality  of  that  story  whitened  this  head, 
when  it  had  seen  but  thirty  summers,  and  the  mem- 
ory of  it  has  been  one  of  my  keenest  sorrows.  It  is 
not  strange  that  I  should  pity  the  poor  washerwo- 
man; Adeline  and  Aunt  Hannah  are  one  and  the 
same." 


QUARTERLY  MEETING  OF  OLDEN  TIME, 


QUARTERLY  MEETING  OF  OLDEN  TIME, 


SOME  memorials  of  these  gatherings  and  spiritual 
pentecosts  have  not  yet  faded  from  our  mind  before 
the  changes  of  later  years.  They  are  enfolded  there 
in  fragrance,  like  flowers  within  the  leaves  of  a  book. 
Let  us  see.  We  remember  a  quarterly  meeting 
of  the  image  and  superscription  we  would  like  to 
sketch.  The  church  was  of  logs,  long,  hewed  logs, 
from  tall  forests,  covered  with  clapboards,  or  a  rude 
species  of  shingle  riven  from  the  oak.  It  was  oblong, 
and  the  door  about  midway  of  the  side,  directly 
facing  the  pulpit  on  the  opposite  side.  The  flooring 
and  pulpit  were  of  ash,  and  hailed  from  a  distant 
saw-mill,  and  were  considered  evidence  of  architect- 
ural skill  and  an  advanced  state  of  civilization.  The 
pulpit  was  a  little  oblong  box,  with  a  breastwork 
reaching  nearly  to  the  armpits  of  the  tallest  preach- 
ers, and  as  destitute  of  all  trimming  and  ornament 
as  if,  studiously,  it  was  designed  to  be  a  standing 
memento  of  that  adage  descriptive  of  the  religion  to 


366  A    QUARTERLY    MEETING 

u 
which  it  w-as  devoted,  "  when  unadorned  adorned  the 

most."  A  small  six-light  window  was  just  in  the 
rear  of  it,  with  corresponding  ones  at  each  end,  and 
at  the  right  and  left  of  the  door.  The  seats  consisted 
of  rude,  backless  benches,  and  a  little  poplar  table, 
never  defiled  with  a  varnish  brush,  stood  just  in 
front  of  the  pulpit.  This  was  considered,  for  those 
days,  not  only  a  convenient,  but  a  rather  tasty 
church,  and  was  dignified,  par  excellence,  by  the 
title,  and  extensively  known  thereby,  of  Mount 
Tabor  Meeting-House.  It  was  a  prominent  appoint- 
ment, in  a  thickly-populated  rural  district,  a  neigh- 
borhood which  was  honored  by  one  of  the  circuit 
preachers,  spending  his  two  weekly  "  rest  days " 
therein.  Quarterly  meetings  then  drew  together  the 
brethren  from  all  parts  of  an  extensive  circuit,  and 
they  were  looked  to  as  quadrennial  festivals,  in 
which  faith  was  certain  to  have  a  feast  of  fat  things, 
and  the  social  ties  of  Methodism  be  again  brightened, 
strengthened,  and  extended.  The  preacher  gave  out 
from  appointment  to  appointment  the  time  and  place 
of  the  "  next  quarterly  meeting,"  seldom  urging  an 
attendance,  as  this  was  unnecessary.  The  Friday 
previous  to  the  meeting,  especially  in  the  neighbor- 
hood where  it  was  to  occur,  was,  emphatically,  a 
day  of  "preparing  to  eat  the  passover."  The 
quarterly  fast  was  generally  observed  for  the  good 
of  the  man  spiritual,  and  very  liberal  preparations 


OP    OLDEN    TIME.  867 

were  made  for  the  benefit  of  the  man  physical, 
for  those  numerous  guests  with  which  every  farm- 
house adjacent  to  the  church  was  expected  to  be 
crowded.  It  was  a  delightful  expectation.  Hospi- 
tality of  this  sort  was  a  thing  of  the  heart,  a  family 
affair,  a  reciprocal  service.  Yes,  Friday  before 
quarterly  meeting!  what  a  day  of  hope,  and  of 
expectation,  of  anticipated  friendship,  and  of  ecstasy, 
did  we  all  feel  it  to  be.  The  wood  pile  in  the  yard 
is  growing  high  under  loads  that  are  being  rapidly 
"  snaked"  or  sledded  there.  In  the  kitchen  the  large 
fire  blazes  on  the  hearth ;  cook  stoves  did  not  belong 
to  that  era  and  latitude ;  and  the  Dutch  oven  is  filled 
to  its  utmost  capacity  with  the  great  "  pone,"  and  it 
may  be  that  a  few  wheaten  loaves  have  been 
secured  by  way  of  special  luxury,  should  the  family 
be  honored  by  any  of  the  preachers  or  their 
staff,  in  the  way  of  local  preachers,  exhorters, 
class-leaders,  or  stewards,  men  who  were  alive  in 
those  days;  "for  there  were  giants  in  those  days." 
On  a  rickety  table  that  quivered  to  the  pressure,  the 
flat-iron  was  being  faithfully  applied  to  new  check 
aprons,  to  flaxen  or  home-made  linen  with  cotton 
collars,  to  sun-bonnets  recently  washed  and  newly 
"done  up,"  etc.,  etc.  The  cabin  yard  is  being  swept 
by  Jane,  and  the  chips  and  dust  removed  just  three 
yards  further  from  the  door,  than  had  been  the  case 
a  long  time  before.  The  old  lady,  mother  of  a  large 


368  A    QUARTERLY    MEETING 

group,  having  inspected  her  beds  for  the  twentieth 
time,  to  see  that  all  was  aufait,  sits  knitting  with  a 
corn-cob  pipe  in  her  month  in  the  best  room  in  the 
house,  watching  the  boiling  of  a  .pot  of  pumpkin, 
laying  her  pipe  down  occasionally  and  singing, 

"How  tedious  and  tasteless  the  hours 

When  Jesus  no  longer  I  see ! 
Sweet  prospects,  sweet  birds,  and  sweet  flowers, 

Have  all  lost  their  sweetness  to  me : 
The  midsummer  sun  shines  but  dim, 

The  fields  strive  in  vain  to  look  gay ; 
But  when  I  am  happy  in  Him, 

December's  as  pleasant  as  May." 

At  that  moment  she  advances  toward  the  little 
cupboard  at  the  right  of  the  chimney,  to  re-inspect 
her  pound  of  "  boughten  coffee,"  and  that  "  quarter- 
ing "  of  tea,  which  had  cost  one  bushel  of  corn  and 
six  dozen  of  eggs  at  the  village  store,  and  which 
were  to  be  brought  on  to  the  table  for  the  expected 
guests  as  luxuries  as  rare  as  they  were  regaling. 

The  old  gentleman  is  inspecting  his  stacks  and  his 
stalls,  knowing  that  his  neighbor  from  "  Big  River," 
or  "Crooked  Creek,"  will  have  need  of  them.  A  suc- 
cessful visit  to  the  poultry-yard  is  expected  to  be  made 
in  the  evening ;  and  thus  the  day,  in  pleasant  duties 
and  sweet  expectancy,  passes  away.  The  pious,  art- 
less, and  hospitable  family  that  we  have  looked  in 
upon,  only  constitutes  one  of  a  quarter  of  a  hundred, 


OP   OLDEN   TIME.  369 

filling  a  large  area  around  this  rural  church  of  loved 
resort. 

Saturday  morning  arrives,  and  bright  and  early  all 
is  astir.  By  ten  o'clock,  a  large  number  have  assem- 
bled in  and  about  the  meeting-house,  dressed  in  their 
best  homespuns,  (this,  however,  is  only  especially  true 
of  the  young  people,)  giving  but  little  evidence  that 
the  village  merchant  was  very  extensively  patronized. 
All  the  roads  and  paths  leading  to  the  church  were 
being  watched  by  a  hundred  anxious  eyes.  Brothers 
and  sisters  in  the  Lord  and  in  the  flesh,  uncles,  aunts, 
and  cousins,  grandpas  and  grandmas  with  their  heads 
of  snow,  are  to  meet  that  day.  At  first,  equestrian 
after  equestrian  comes  in,  as  if  by  way  of  herald.  But 
soon  the  main  army  follows.  A  long  string  of  horse- 
men and  horsewomen  (wagons  are  rarities  and  car- 
riages unknown )  come  trotting  and  pacing  on  their 
winding  way.  A  mother  is  on  a  side-saddle,  with 
her  little  son  behind  and  lesser  son  in  her  lap.  The 
husband  rides  by  her  side,  or  oftener  before,  carrying, 
perhaps,  the  rest  of  the  family.  A  newly-married 
couple,  or  those  who  intend  to  be,  occupy  only  the 
back  of  one  favorite  nag.  Single  riders  are  rare.  The 
territory  of  a  horse's  back  is  appropriated  on  princi 
pies  of  the  highest  utilitarianism.  Here  and  there,  a 
farm-wagon  with  a  fine  span,  indicating  the  inception 
of  rural  aristocracy,  may  roll  up  with  its  smiling 
burden.  The  work  of  dismounting  is  but  one  of  a 


370  A    QUARTERLY    MEETING 

moment,  when  fence  corners,  limbs  of  trees,  etc.,  are. 
readily  appropriated  for  hitching  posts.  The  gather- 
ing continues,  and  greetings  are  exchanged,  and  the 
words,  "  You  must  go  home  with  me  after  meeting," 
and  "You  with  me,"  and  "With  me,"  passes  rapidly 
from  lip  to  lip.  Brethren  in  the  church  have  com 
menced  singing. 

"  Oome,  thou  Fount  of  every  blessing," 

rings,  for  the  thousandth  time,  from  tuneful  lips,  in 
rude  but  spiritual  music.  But  the  preacher  has  not 
come  yet.  Several  local  brethren,  with  their  broad 
brimmed  hats  and  circular  coats,  are  indeed  there. 
The  time  has  nearly  arrived  for  the  sermon ;  and  with 
no  small  solicitude  is  the  inquiry  circulated,  Is  the 
presiding  elder,  and  are  our  preachers,  in  the  neigh- 
borhood ?  In  a  few  moments  it  is  discovered  that  the 
family  with  whom  they  generally  tarry  have  not  yet 
arrived.  All  solicitude  is  gone ;  the  preachers  will  be 
here  in  a  moment.  That  good  old  song, 

"  O  how  happy  are  they, 
Who  their  Saviour  obey," 

is  struck  up.  The  church  is  nearly  filled  to  its  utmost 
capacity.  The  old  fathers,  a  little  hard  of  hearing, 
take  their  seats  directly  under  the  pulpit.  The  local 
preachers  cluster  about  it,  but  no  one  presumes  to 
enter  it.  But  yonder  comes  the  elder,  with  the  senior 
and  junior  preachers  in  his  train.  He  is  well  mount- 


OF    OLDEN    TIME.  371 

e<J,with  his  saddle-bags  pressing  out  on  each  side  like 
panniers  on  the  back  of  a  camel.  He  wears  a  large 
white  hat,  with  a  six-inch  brim,  containing  material 
enough  to  make  half  a  dozen  of  your  modern  wafer 
ones.  With  the  exception  of  his  coat,  he  is  dressed 
in  jeans,  which  have  been  a  little  too  long  from  the 
loom,  and  look  somewhat  seedy.  For  the  cut  of  his 
coat,  we  must  refer  you  to  a  Quaker  of  the  strictest 
sect.  His  neck  is  muffled  with  no  kerchief,  as  he 
maintains  staunchly  that  neckerchiefs  are  the  cause 
of  all  throat  diseases.  His  countenance  is  sallow, 
morally  good,  with  a  gravity  which  seems  to  border  a 
little  on  sadness.  Underlying  all,  however,  is  that 
boldness  of  the  lion,  which  belongs  to  the  righteous. 
His  eyes  are  deep  set  and  wide  apart,  nose  very  long, 
mouth  nearly  dividing  his  whole  face  ;  and  grasping 
in,  his  gloveless  hand  a  huge  whip,  he  raises  himself 
up  in  his  cowhide  boots  as  he  comes  in  sight  of  the 
meeting-house,  and  nearly  forms  the  perpendicular  of 
a  six-footer.  He  heaves  a  pious  sigh  by  way  of  ejac- 
ulatory  prayer,  which  is  followed  by  the  increased 
gravity  of  countenance  of  his  accompanying  preach- 
ers, with  whom,  with  saddle-bags  on  their  arms,  he 
soon  enters  the  church  under  the  affectionate  scrutiny 
of  every  eye,  followed  by  the  family  whose  guests 
they  had  been  through  the  night.  If  a  few  special 
airs  should  be  put  on  by  some  members  of  this  family, 

consequent  upon  the  dignity  which  their  beloved 

24 


372  A   QUARTERLY    MEETING 

guests  had  bestowed  upon  them,  if  a  little  special, 
not  wholly  enviless,  attention  should  be  shown  them, 
it  should  surprise  none  acquainted  with  that  singular 
institution  called  human  nature. 

Of  the  sermon  and  the  services  of  this  hour,  we 
have  not  space  to  speak.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  it  was 
primitively  simple,  followed  by  an  exhortation  by 
some  exhorter  or  local  preacher,  that  filled  the  house 
with  amens,  sobs,  and  shouts.  Then  follows  a  slight 
inspection  of  the  audience  by  the  preacher,  who  sees 
representatives  there  from  all  parts  of  his  circuit,  the 
commingling  of  a  diversity  of  neighborhoods  in  one 
spirit ;  and  he  feels,  and  all  feel,  that  the  social  ele- 
ment of  such  a  gathering  is  specially  subservient  to 
the  cause  of  religion.  He  announces  the  appointments 
for  the  subsequent  part  of  the  day,  especially  the  love- 
feast,  which  is  to  follow  on  Sabbath  morning,  when 
the  door  is  to  be  guarded  after  a  certain  hour  with  a 
stringency  that  would  exclude  a  bishop. 

The  congregation  is  now  dismissed,  and  after  a  little 
mounting  and  remounting,  amid  gushings  of  hearty 
greetings,  a  little  marching  and  countermarching,  all 
slowly  retire  to  their  homes  from  this  rural  altar,  mak- 
ing the  highways  and  hedges,  the  hidden  paths  and 
mountain  passes,  vocal  with  the  voice  of  gladness  and 
with  songs  of  praise ;  each  family  bearing  away  its  por- 
tion of  guests,  who  "  came  to  stay  through  the  meet- 
ing," as  prizes  which  they  had  lawfully  appropriated. 


OP    OLDEN   TIME.  878 

The  pious  are  not  expecting  a  revival  at  that  quar- 
terly meeting,  for  "  that  which  a  man  hath,  why  doth 
he  yet  hope  for  ?"  They  come  in  the  spirit  of  revival, 
and  go  directly  to  work  in  a  revival  spirit.  At  their 
houses,  while  some,  like  Martha,  are  engaged  in  serv- 
ing, others  are  found  at  the  feet  of  Jesus ;  and  the 
voice  of  rejoicing  is  heard  in  the  tabernacles  of  the 
righteous.  There  is  found  use  for  the  mourner's  bench 
in  the  evening ;  and  the  sighs  of  the  penitent,  praises 
of  the  delivered,  and  gratulations  of  the  saints,  con- 
tinue until  a  late  hour.  The  love-feast  on  the  Sabbath 
morning  was  like  the  first  morning  to  the  old  hungry 
Israelites,  when  the  ground  was  covered  with  manna, 
and  the  heavens  seemed  honey-combed  over  them. 
It  was  a  season  of  sweetness,  of  sanctifying  power  and 
holy  rapture.  The  slain  of  the  Lord  were  many. 

Scenes  of  rural  artlessness,  when  man  had  but  little 
and  wanted  less,  why  are  ye  fled  ?  Scenes  of  prim- 
itive simplicity,  when  ostentation  and  pride,  the  mach- 
inations and  arts  of  a  more  artificial  society,  were 
comparatively  unknown,  will  ye  ever  return  again  ? 
Alas !  the  old-fashioned  quarterly  meeting  is  hence- 
forth to  be  but  a  thing  of  history.  Buffif  we  cannot 
restore  it,  can  we- not  substitute  something  equally 
good  and  useful  ? 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADES  IN  ITINERANCY, 


. 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADES  IN  ITINERANCY 


THIS  phrase  has  become  stereotyped.  It  has  be- 
come the  title  of  books  upon  the  subject,  and  litera- 
ture of  this  species  is  on  the  increase.  Having  been 
twenty-five  years  in  the  itinerancy,  and  labored  in  an 
early  day,  from  the  wilds  of  Arkansas  to  the  peninsula 
of  Michigan;  having  engaged  in  nearly  all  the  possible 
forms  of  itinerancy,  and  lived  after  every  conceivable 
fashion,  without  a  shelter,  and  with  one ;  without  mon- 
ey, and  with  it ;  in  tents,  and  in  ceiled  houses,  we  may 
be  supposed  to  know  a  little  of  the  "  lights  and  shades" 
in  itinerancy,  and  would,  therefore,  show  our  opinion. 
"We  believe  there  is  a  great  error  in  treating  this  sub- 
ject. It  is  treated  exparte.  The  "shades"  are  exag- 
gerated, and  the  "  lights"  undervalued.  The  thing  is 
treated  as  if  the  people  were  always  in  fault,  and  the 
preachers  always  feultless.  We  are  not  among  those 
who  would  conceal  the  real  difficulties  and  embarrass- 
ments of  an  itinerant's  life  even  under  the  most  favor-> 
able  circumstances.  But  there*  are  many  who  have 


378         ,.  LIGHTS    AND    SHADES 

been  as  long  in  the  itinerancy  as  we,  who,  had  they 
their  lives  to  re-spend,  would  engage  again  at  once  in 
this  career  of  so  much  trial  and  responsibility.  They 
feel  that  if  there  were  dark  days,  there  were  also 
many  days  mellow  with  the  richest  sunlight  of  joy. 
Indeed,  start  a  man's  heart  once  to  itinerating,  he  is 
seldom  fit  for  anything  else,  and  if  compelled,  by 
any  means,  to  stop  in  his  orbit,  he  becomes  like  a 
caged  lion,  restless  to  move  forward  again  in  this 
homeless  mode  of  life.  There  is  a  lure  here,  a  spe- 
.cies,  we  had  nearly  said,  of  holy  magic,  the  existence 
of  which  is  less  easily  to  be  accounted  for,  than  one 
might  at  first  suppose.  But  it  is  a  fact,  nevertheless. 
The  preacher  who  has  been  once  active  in  the  itin- 
erant field,  is  always  panting,  even  under  the  great- 
est embarrassments,  superannuation,  or  what  not,  to 
shoulder  his  crutch,  and  fight  his  battles  over  again. 
Perhaps  we  have  an  indication  here  of  the  divinity 
of  the  system. 

We  apprehend  that  these  "shades"  occasionally 
originate,  in  part,  with  the  preacher.  Our  system  of 
supplying  our  extended  work,  especially  in  an  early 
day,  was  operated  with  but  a  very  slight  regard 
to  a  severe  eclecticism  in  the  matter  of  multiplying 
our  preachers.  Inadequacy,  inexperience,  abounded 
largely,  and  that,  too,  of  necessity.  Among  many  of 
our  itinerants,  some  were  constitutionally  defective, 
wholly  unimpowered  in  the  art  of  persuading  men, 


IN  ITINERANCY.  379 

or  socially  interesting  them.  To  all  these  men  is  to 
be  awarded  sincerity,  though  many  have  entered 
upon  their  calling  prematurely,  while  with  others, 
again,  it  had  never  been  their  calling.  They  con- 
ceived of  the  itinerant  work,  as  a  kind  of  stroll 
through  Elysian  fields,  in  which  they  were  not  ex- 
actly in  heaven,  and  yet  very  far  removed  from  the 
prose  and  common  things  of  earth.  They  were  to 
preach,  and  the  Church  was  to  see  that  they  wanted 
nothing.  Now,  true  views  of  duty,  of  what  is  re- 
quired of  the  itinerant,  could  scarcely  be  expected  to 
obtain  in  such  a  mind.  When  they  begin  to  want, 
they  begin  to  grumble.  Grumbling  is  a  very  un- 
sightly virtue.  It  is  of  rank  growth,  and  its  habit 
soon  fixed,  and  from  a  grumbler  before  the  Lord  and 
the  Church,  may  we  ever  be  delivered.  From  this 
character,  and  others  that  might  be  mentioned,  the 
people  often  feel  that  they  are  not  receiving  all  they 
have  a  right  to  expect.  The  discouragement  be- 
comes mutual,  but  the  people  come  in  for  all  the 
blame.  Have  not  such  scenes  as  these  ever  oc- 
curred? Men  have  been  put  in,  and  kept  in  the 
ministry,  because  of  their  age  and  talents,  for  of  this 
class,  there  are  able  preachers,  who  never  passed  a 
year  in  peace,  in  any  society,  though  in  some  por- 
tions of  the  year,  they  might  have  had  great  prosper- 
ity. There  is  about  such  men  a  Constitutional  impru- 
dence, a  rashness,  a  want  of  patience,  to  abide  the 


380  LIGHTS  AND    SHADES 

time  of  things,  and  it  is  a  kind  of  physiological  ne- 
cessity for  such  to  have  an  annual  altercation,  in 
some  way,  with  some  person,  to  work  off  this  ultra- 
biliousness.  Are  the  "  shades"  all  on  one  side  here  ? 
Another  example.  A  young  man  of  twenty  is  con- 
verted at  a  camp-meeting.  He  is  of  Methodist 
parentage,  and  the  child  of  many  prayers.  His 
conversion  is  thorough.  He  is  soon  licensed  to  ex- 
hort. This  is  followed  by  a  license  to  preach,  and  a 
recommendation  to  the  traveling  connection.  Last 
year  he  plowed,  this  year  he  is  junior  preacher  on 

circuit,  or,  it  may  be,  he  is  the  sole  preacher  of 

the  circuit.  The  only  merit  as  a  preacher  he  pos- 
sesses, or  could  expect  to  possess,  is  the  fervor  of  his 
first  love,  and  his  zeal  in  the  good  cause.  In  propor- 
tion as  these  wane,  and  wane  they  will  and  must,  to 
some  extent,  he  is  shorn  of  his  power.  He  has  noth- 
ing to  fall  back  upon.  In  all  the  matter  of  theologi- 
cal acquisition,  he  has  only  come  to  the  beginning 
point.  The  brethren  respect  him.  Some,  we  are 
sorry  to  say,  pity  him,  for  he,  perhaps,  will  not  con- 
sider it  a  compliment'.  "With  him,  no  habits  of  study 
are  fixed.  It  is  too  late  in  life  for  him  to  submit  to 
much  sedentary  habit.  He  has  no  one  to  learn  him 
how  to  begin  to  learn.  His  appointments  are  mostly 
confined  to  the  four  Sabbaths  of  his  circuit,  and  hav- 
ing begun  to  feel  some  native  diffidence,  he  has  little 
disposition  to  extemporize  any.  During  the  secular 


IN    ITINEEANCY.  381 

days,  on  which  he  is  not  engaged,  he  reads  a  little  by 
patches,  joins  a  fishing  excursion,  or  rides  home,  fifty 
miles,  to  see  his  mother,  returns  to  some  favorite 
preacher's  home,  which  he  seems  little  disposed  to 
exchange  for  others,  eats  heartily,  and  often  has  to  be 
called  np  to  breakfast  and  prayers,  and  then  visits 
his  people  on  Sabbath,  not  only  without  beaten  oil, 
but  with  no  oil.  Now,  if  in  the  matter  of  collecting 
quarterage  for  such  preachers,  paying  the  debts  they 
incur,  etc.,  there  be  some,  and,  at  times,  much  friction, 
is  it  a  matter  of  much  surprise  ?  The  "  shades"  are 
not  all  on  one  side  here,  we  are  thinking.  Examples 
of  other  classes  might  be  multiplied,  but  we  forbear. 
The  truth  is  in  this  matter,  as  in  all  others,  the  peo- 
ple are  looking  for  a  kind  of  qmd  pro  quo,  and 
though  it  is  not  exactly  and  always,  "  poor  preach, 
poor  pay,"  yet  the  principle  points  with  a  sharp  angle 
in  this  direction.  The  preacher  who  gets  into  the 
people's  hearts,  will  generally  share  the  liberty  of 
their  pockets,  and  he  whose  reputation  on  his  circuit 
and  station  has  been  irreproachable,  and  who  leaves 
a  balmy  memory  in  his  career,  will  have  but  few 
enemies,  as  it  would  be  unpopular  to  be  such,  and 
those  whom  he  has,  will  only  fall  out  to  his  good,  by 
acting  as  a  spur  to  the  vigilance  of  his  friends,  in  the 
protection  of  his  reputation.  Such  an  itinerant  will 
suffer  little  from  that  small-souled  sort  of  people 
found  everywhere,  the  croaker,  and  that  still  more 


382  LIGHTS    AND    SHADES 

despicable  character,  the  Church  member  who  must  al- 
ways be  criticising  even  the  domestic  habits  of  the  min- 
ister, having  an  eye  to  peep  in  the  kitchen,  the  ward- 
robe, and  especially  to  keep  posted  up  in  reference 
to  the  dress  and  bonnet  worn  by  the  itinerant's  wife. 
Now,  of  all  we  have  further  to  say  on  this  subject, 
the  following  is  the  sum  from  our  experience :  "We 
have  passed  through  the  very  rough  and  tumble  of 
itinerant  life,  if  any  man  ever  did.  If  we  have  not 
fought  with  beasts  at  Ephesus,  we  have  with  black- 
jack, brushwood,  and  bears,  as  we  have  ascended  the 
Gasconade  River,  on  our  way  to  seek  the  "  lost  sheep 
of  the  house  of  Israel,"  and  it  certainly  required 
some  search.  For  if  "rocks  and  mountains" 
could  hide  from  the  Almighty,  this  part  of  Missouri 
would  be  the  very  place  for  the  miserable  refugee. 
Nature,  here,  seems,  back  in  the  dateless  ages,  in 
some  volcanic  eruption,  to  have  thrown  to  the  surface 
of  the  earth,  what  belonged  to  its  center.  Indeed,  as 
if  in  anticipation  of  Missouri  ruffianism  itself,  the 
agencies  of  nature  seem  here  to  have  turned  prophet, 
and  to  have  fitly  characterized  portions  of  Missouri 
as  the  Judas  of  states :  and  "  falling  down,  his 
bowels  gushed  out."  Again,  we  have  enjoyed 
the  well-regulated  circuit,  the  station  of  the  beautiful 
rural  village,  the  more  responsible  one  of  the  city, 
and  for  our  part,  amid  all  our  toils  and  trials, 
occasionally  some  real  suffering,  the  "lights"  with 


IN    ITINERANCY.  883 

us  have  folly  equaled  the  "shades,"  ay,  surpassed 
them,  as  much  as  the  brightness  of  the  day  does 
the  ordinary  darkness  of  the  night.  "We  have  found 
that  where  we  have  succeeded  in  getting  the  people 
to  love  us,  and  to  appreciate  our  labors,  they 
manifested  anything  else  than  a  disposition  to  starve 
us,  or  even  suffer  us  knowingly  to  want  a  compe- 
tency. "We  have  found  that  it  is  not  foolish  preach- 
ing, though  it  might  be  the  foolishness  of  preaching, 
that  the  people  "wanted;  that  if  the  former  had 
been  in  demand,  the  world  had  been  converted  long 
ere  this.  We  bless  God  for  the  itinerancy,  and 
had  we  a  thousand  lives,  they  should  be  spent  in  this 
sweet  but  checkered  mode  of  seeking  to  win  the 
world  to  Christ.  Halleluiah  !  our  heart  wakes  up  at 
many  joyful  retrospects  of  glorious  revival  seasons, 
the  quarterly  meetings,  and  camp-meetings,  where 
one  seems  for  a  season  abstracted  from  the  earth,  and 
by  a  sweet  and  mysterious  spiritual  chemistry, 
becomes  assimilated  with  the  skies !  Nature  has  put 
on  new  garments  of  beauty.  The  word  of  God 
sweeter  than  honey  and  the  honey-comb.  Every 
Christian,  a  John  for  your  bosom,  and  a  Jonathan 
for  your  confidence,  while  your  love  for  sinners  has 
possessed  a  winning  power  which  no  one  has  been 
able  to  gainsay  or  resist.  Glory  to  God  for  the 
"  lights  "  of  the  itinerancy,  and  let  the  "  shades,"  say 
we,  take  care  of  themselves. 


GENERAL  CONFERENCE  TAKINGS. 


GENERAL   CONFERENCE   TAKINGS. 


REV.  JOHN  DEMPSTER,  D.D., 

PRESIDENT  OF  GARRETT  BIBLICAL  INSTITUTE. 

"  And  well  his  words  became  him.     "Was  he  not 
A  full-celled  honeycomb  of  eloquence 
Stored  from  all  flowers  ?    Poet  like  he  spoke." 

DR.  DEMPSTER  has  just  obtained  the  floor  from  us, 
at  first,  much  to  our  regret,  but  subsequently,  much 
to  our  gratification.  He  has  made  one  of  ike  speech- 
es of  the  session,  on  the  compatibility  of  the  insertion 
of  a  rule  prohibiting  any  further  slaveholding  in  the 
Church,  in  the  seventh  chapter,  with  the  General 
Rule.  He  has  shown  clearly  that  the  spirit  of  the 
latter  requires  the  former  statute,  and  that  it  is  not, 
therefore,  unconstitutional.  His  speech  is  senten- 
tious, resistless  in  its  logic,  and  mainly  lucid.  It  is 
just  concluded,  and  has  been  received  with  great 
favor.  The  occasion  has  prompted  this  imperfect 

sketch.     Of  the  parentage,  early  history,  and  educa- 

25 


388       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

tion  of  this  venerable  man,  we  know  just  nothing. 
Of  his  labors  since  his  name  was  associated  with  bur 
itinerancy,  as  a  pastor,  foreign  missionary,  and  educa- 
tionalist, we  can  give  at  present  no  consecutive  view. 
."We  can  only  say,  that  for  the  last  twenty  years  we 
have  associated  the  name  of  Dempster  with  much 
that  is  eloquent  as  a  writer,  and  more  that  is  elo- 
quent as  a  preacher,  and  with  all  that  is  guileless 
and  commendable  as  a  devoted,  self-sacrificing  Chris- 
tian. Our  personal  acquaintance  with  him  has  been 
of  recent  occurrence,  but  his  name  has  long  been  to 
us  a  source  of  inspiration,  as  being  the  name  of  one 
who  had  reached  a  very  high  point  in  his  profession, 
and  who  possessed  the  power  to  move  men.  In  look- 
ing to-day  upon  the  good  old  disciple,  whose  health, 
though  generally  good  for  one  of  his  ripe  age,  has  re- 
cently been  much  impaired  by  severe  attacks  of  the 
ague;  in  gazing  upon  his  thin,  sallow,  flabby  cheeks; 
his  mouth,  which  shows  the  marks  of  time,  and  out  of 
which  words  have  so  often  gone  on  so  magic  a  mis- 
sion; his  only  skin-covered  brow,  which  projects  over 
piercing,  restless  eyes,  like  a  promontory,  and  listen 
ing  to  the  enfeebled  tones  of  his  voice,  once  so  rich, 
musical,  and  of  so  wide  a  compass;  on  seeing  his 
whole  frame  toddle  under  the  weight  of  his  efforts 
like  an  old  man-of-war,  trembling  in  every  joint  from 
the  reaction  of  a  broadside,  we  are  induced,  at  least, 
after  saying,  Well  done,  brother;  your  day  and  gener- 


REV.    JOHN   DEMPSTER.  889 

ation  have  thus  far  been  faithfully  served  by  you,  to 
attempt  a  charcoal  sketch  of  some  of  his  mental,  pro- 
fessional, and  social  characteristics,  as  they  have  from 
time  to  time  impressed  us. 

All  true  poets,  it  is  said,  are  metaphysicians,  but 
the  converse  of  the  proposition  is  not  true.  All  met- 
aphysicians are  not  poets.  Brother  Dempster  is  a 
metaphysician,  and  though  he  be  not  a  poet,  the 
style  of  some  of  his  compositions  would  seem  to  indi- 
cate that  nature  had  at  first  intended  to  blend  the 
two  characters  in  one,  but  abandoned  her  design 
when  the  poet  was  but  half  made.  The  rhetoric  of 
the  poet  belongs  to  Dr.  D.  His  prose  sentences  are 
often  as  regularly  measured  as  the  lines  of  Homer. 
His  taste  for  the  music  of  words,  when  they  treasure 
within  themselves  great  thoughts  and  are  only  sing- 
ing to  their  burden,  is  strongly  marked.  This  sheds 
a  marked  individualism  over  his  style,  nearly  allied 
to  fancy,  but  a  little  too  masculine  for  it.  Indeed, 
Dr.  D.'s  poetic  conceptions  seem  to  have  been  form- 
ed more  from  the  beauty  of  the  relations  of  truth, 
than  from  the  breathings  of  living  nature  about  him. 
He  looks  upon  a  principle  with  the  eye  of  a  poet, 
more  than  on  prairies  gorgeous  in  carpets  of  green. 
He  dwells  more  among  the  forest  of  abstract  truths, 
than  among  the  forest  of  leafy  green ;  hence,  that 
quiet  glow  of  fancy  and  rich  rhetorical  rhythm  in  his 
productions,  which,  while  they  are  felt  to  be  natural 


390       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

to  him,  and  are  not  wanting  in  power  to  impart 
pleasure  to  the  reader  or  hearer,  yet  one  drawback 
in  this  pleasure  is  felt  to  consist  in  the  fact  that  they 
are  too  artificial.  Like  Grecian  statuary,  beautiful 
but  cold.  The  flower  is  artificial  rather  than  fresh 
from  gathering.  In  early  life,  the  animus  of  the 
orator,  now  sacrificed  to  infirmity,  supplied  this  lack, 
and  justified  the  very  high  reputation  which  Dr.  D. 
has  left  behind  him  as  an  eloquent  and  impassioned 
preacher.  ,; 

We  have  said  he  was  a  metaphysician.  He  is 
always  dwelling  among  primitive  principles,  com- 
mences no  subject  without  announcing  his  category, 
and,  as  a  general  thing,  builds  a  wall-work  of  logic 
around  the  truth  he  would  defend,  as  immovable  as 
Gibraltar.  Perhaps  it  is  to  be  regretted,  that  now 
and  then  the  crystal-like  perspicuity  of  the  thorough 
logician  is  lost  sight  of  in  a  metaphysical  haze,  and 
though  you  are  prepared  to  admit  his  conclusions, 
and  generally  feel  that  you  cannot  do  otherwise,  yet, 
every  ^tep  by  which  the  reasoner  reached  them  is 
not  so  clearly  seen  by  you.  Dr.  D.  (and  it  is  but  too 
often  the  error  of  the  greatest  of  minds,  and  few  ever 
possessed  a  greater  than  he)  lives  too  much  in  the 
subjective,  and  too  little  in  the  objective.  This  ten- 
dency of  his  mind,  we  fully  believe,  has  grown  with 
his  growth  and  strengthened  with  his  strength,  until 
it  has  become  a  fixed  habit  of  years.  Brother  Demp- 


REV.    JOHN   DEMPSTER.  891 

ster,  though  always  popular  in  his  public  ministra- 
tions, in  a  good  sense,  can  never  be  popular  and 
effective  equal  to  his  real  powers.  This  communion 
of  the  mind  with  things  internal  and  abstract,  so  dis- 
proportionately with  the  communion  of  the  mind 
with  things  external  and  concrete,  is  too  apt  to  pro- 
duce this  sense  of  inexplicableness.  The  author 
makes  discoveries  and  distinctions  that  are  so  wholly 
new  and  unconfirmed  by  experience  that  we  cannot 
feel  their  force.  The  first  school-teacher  of  mankind 
is  experience ;  the  philosophy  of  those  who  are  to  be 
taught,  is  always  one  of  fact,  and  not  of  abstraction. 
And  whenever  we  deal  in  abstract  truths  so  profound 
that  they  are  not  found  to  be  verified  in  ordinary 
experience,  we  speak  to  the  mass  in  an  unknown 
tongue.  * 

Indomitable  energy,  with  always  an  object  in  view, 
seems  always  to  have  been  a  characteristic  of  Dr. 
Dempster.  And  now  that  his  face  is  deeply  fur- 
rowed by  time,  and  he  must  inevitably  feel  the  press- 
ure of  years,  yet  he  seems  resolved  never  to  grow 
old.  The  will  may  add  as  many  years  to  the  life,  as 
were  mercifully  vouchsafed  to  the  penitent  Hezekiah. 
Greatheart  is  a  great  character.  There  is  such  a  thing 
as  realizing  the  fabled  elixir  of  perpetual  youth.  Dr. 
D.  comes  as  near  to  it  as  any  man  we  ever  knew.  He 
is  a  young  old  man,  mentally  and  morally,  or  rather 
an  old  man  who  has  learned  how  to  become  old.  He 


392       GENEEAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

seems,  by  anticipation,  to  have  thoroughly  studied  the 
infirmities  of  age  and  its  concomitant  weaknesses,  and 
when  the  time  arrived  that  he  should  be  swayed  by 
their  influence,  he  governs  himself  by  the  conclusions 
of  former  years.  It  is  a  hard  lesson  to  learn,  especially 
among  clergymen,  this  thing  of  learning  how  to  be- 
come old.  In  our  experience,  we  have  found  vanity 
as  strongly  manifested  in  gray  hairs  as  we  have  in  the 
inexperienced  youth  of  twenty.  Old  age,  too,  is  sel- 
dom studious,  but  lives  wholly  upon  past  resources. 
This  indulgence,  perhaps,  should  be  readily  granted 
to  it.  But  in  the  case  of  Dr.  D.  it  is  quite  different. 
He  pursues  his  studies  with  all  the  energy  and  regu- 
larity of  one  who  has  only  heard  the  clock  of  life's 
day  strike  ten.  A  freshness,  currency,  and  adapted- 
ness  are  thus  generally  imparted  to  his  conversation 
and  public  ministrations.  He  does  not  make  the 
mistake  of  sexagenarians  generally,  and  live  in  the 
past  rather  than  the  present. 

His  social  intercourse  is  marked  by  a  model  eti- 
quette. Deference,  simplicity,  courtesy,  and  kindness, 
characterize  all  his  intercourse  with  his  brethren.  In 
conversation  he  is  highly  gifted.  He  makes  no  waste 
of  words,  but  his  utterances  are  epigrammatic.  He 
seems  as  much  at  home  among  that  class  of  authors 
which  we  denominate  rare,  as  in  the  circle  of  his  own 
familiar  friends.  Socially,  however,  we  sometimes  feai 
that  Dr.  D.  is  falling  too  much  in  love  with  the  dead 


REV.    JOHN   DEMPSTER.  398 

for  the  good  of  the  living.     Society  is  compelled  to 
seek  him  rather  than  he  seek  society. 

Our  readers  need  not  be  informed  that  Dr.  Demp- 
ster, the  founder  of  the  flourishing  Biblical  Institute 
at  Concord,  N.  H.,  is  now  the  president  of  the  Garrett 
Biblical  Institute,  located  at  Evanston,  eleven  miles 
north  of  Chicago.  Though  this  institution  is  yet  in 
embryo,  and  it  doth  not  yet  appear  what  it  shall  be, 
yet  under  his  wise  supervision  and  tutorship,  fruits 
have  already  resulted  from  it  that  have  widely  in 
spired  public  confidence,  and  justify  the  most  sanguine 
hopes  for  the  future.  Dr.  D.  emigrated  west  some  two 
years  since,  and  notwithstanding  the  engrossing  duties 
of  his  professional  chair,  he  has  often  filled  our  pulpits 
in  this  city,  and  complied  with  calls  from  abroad  for 
dedications  and  other  special  occasions,  never  failing 
to  give  the  highest  satisfaction.  He  is  a  member  of 
the  Rock  River  Conference,  which  he  now  represents 
on  this  floor.  We  know  little  of  the  preparations 
he  makes  for  the  pulpit,  but  his  sermons  are  always 
found  highly  finished,  pregnant  with  thought,  and 
warm  with  the  unmixed  blood  of  evangelism.  We 
hear  him  with  mingled  emotions  of  paiu  and  pleasure: 
of  pleasure,  that  we  are  permitted  to  feast  our  ears 
and  heart  upon  such  messages;  of. pain,  to  think  that 
the  man  physical  has  lost  its  wonted  strength,  while 
the  man  mental  is  still  the  same  in  force  and  fire. 
A  weak  voice  and  age-withered  frame  command  pro- 


394      GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

found  veneration,  but  still  greatly  diminish  the  powers 
of  delivery.  We  sigh,  too,  to  think  that  that  voice, 
growing  fainter  and  fainter,  must  soon  be  silent  for- 
ever, and -the  light,  if  not  of  genius,  the  steadier  shin- 
ing of  a  noble  and  rare  talent,  go  out  in  the  darkness 
of  the  grave.  May  the  day  be  distant ! 

In  what  we  have  said  about  the  occasional  abstract- 
edness and  obscurity  of  passages  in  Dr.  D.'s  ministra- 
tions, we  would  not  have  it  understood  that  they  occur 
frequently,  especially  in  his  ordinary  and  more  popu- 
lar discourses. 

A  striking  trait  in  Dr.  Dempster's  social  and  profes- 
sional character  is,  his  generosity  and  disinterestedness. 
He  is  as  enviless  as  an  infant,  and  prone  rather  to 
overestimate  the  talents  of  his  brethren  than  the  con- 
trary, and,  certainly,  prone  always  to  undervalue  his 
own.  An  atmosphere  of  generosity  and  magnanimous 
impulse  surrounds  him,  like  the  robe  of  a  prophet. 
He  is  a  lovable  man,  and  a  single  interview  with  a 
family  endears  every  member  of  it  to  him. 

Though  as  economical  as  Luther,  who  would  not 
waste  a  straw,  as  it  might  serve  to  thicken  the  thatch 
of  a  poor  man's  cottage,  yet  he  attaches  no  value  to 
money  or  possessions,  further  than  they  can  be  made 
to  serve  the  great  purpose  of  perfecting  some  pending 
enterprise,  and  glorifying  God.  And  as  to  office  or 
official  position,  these  must  always  seek  him,  and  not 
he  them ;  and  whether  called  to  fill  the  humblest  or 


BEV.   WM.    F.    FARRINGTON.  395 

the  highest  place,  it  is  equally  a  matter  of  indifference; 
only  so  that  the  work  stop  not.  This  total  abandon- 
ment, this  absorption  into  the  work  of  the  ministry 
and  its  concomitant  auxiliaries,  is  quite  too  rare. 
May  examples  be  multiplied ! 


REV.  WILLIAM  F.  FARRINGTON, 

OF    MAINE    CONFERENCE. 

"Love  and  meekness,  lord, 
Become  a  Churchman  better  than  ambition ; 
Win  straying  souls,  and  with  modesty  again, 
Cast  none  away." 

IN  person,  there  is  a  disproportion  between  bone 
and  muscle  in  Brother  F.,  the  latter  being  inordin- 
ately large.  He  is  a  large  man,  slightly  stoop- 
shouldered,  with  a  small  tendency  toward  abdominal 
orbicularity.  His  hair  is  silken,  and  complexion  fair, 
cheek-bones  high,  mouth  large,  brow  well  developed, 
but  not  remarkable  for  its  intellectual  manifestations. 
The  moral  and  mental  lineaments  of  his  features  may 
be  generally  expressed  thus:  kindness,  candor,  gen- 
erosity, and  good  sense.  We  might  be  more  minute, 
but  we  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  our  broth- 
er from  away  down  East  (he  is  a  member  of  the 
General  Conference  from  Maine)  until  we  met  him 


396       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

here.  Practically,  we  pronounce  him  a  safe,  availa- 
ble, and  reliable  brother,  equally  free  from  rashness 
and  vacillation.  It  is  the  steady  dropping  that 
wears  away  the  stone.  The  sudden  blow  may  only 
break,  not  remove  the  obstacle.  Though  like  the 
hand  of  a  clock,  too  slow  for  its  movements  to  be 
seen,  though  those  movements  are  just  as  they  should 
be,  so  Brother  Farrington  belongs  to  that  class  of 
men  and  ministers  who  are  constantly  making  the 
world  better  around  them,  though  the  fact  is  not 
always  perceptible.  We  should  deem  him  not 
especially  gifted  in  the  brilliancies  of  speech,  the 
flowers  of  rhetoric,  the  discoveries  of  originality,  or 
the  profundities  of  logic,  and  least  of  all,  the  decep- 
tive forms  of  sophistry.  His  sermons  are  sensible  and 
practical ;  tear-soaked  and  tear-begetting.  He  ad- 
dresses himself  more  to  the  affections  than  to  the 
intellect ;  hence  he  will  make  no  very  striking  impres- 
sion favorable  to  intellectual  strength;  at  first,  upon 
an  audience  of  strangers;  but  as  all  love  to  feel  more 
than  they  love  to  think,  and  the  latter  being  no  less 
important  than  the  former  in  the  work  of  reform, 
Brother  F.  will  wear  well,  and  the  good  seed  which 
he  sows  will  generally  grow.  If  he  does  not  turn  up 
the  subsoil  of  the  heart  with  a  plow  of  great  intellect- 
ual power,  he  saturates  it  into  mellowness.  In  his  pas- 
toral intercourse  he  is  always  a  lovable  man,  and  will 
be  welcomed  by  sorrow  as  a  son  of  consolation,  and 


REV    WM.    F.    FARRINGTOHT.  397 

by  misfortune  as  the  good  Samaritan.  If  the  back- 
slider do  not  commence  to  retrace  his  steps  at  once, 
when  pursued  by  him,  he  stops  when  he  finds  himself 
pursued,  for  Brother  F.  to  come  up  with  him.  The 
Church  will  have  peace,  if  not  always  prosperity, 
under  his  spiritual  nurture.  He,  perhaps,  is  more 
gifted  in  training  young  converts  than  in  making 
them.  Like  light,  which  falls  as  noiselessly  upon  the 
city  as  into  the  silent  mountain  pass,  revealing  what  it 
touches,  and  beautifying  the  flower,  born  to  blush 
unseen,  so  Brother  F.  seeks  to  make  no  noise  in  order 
to  be  known,  but  he  is  sought  for  because  he  is  just 
the  man  to  meet  one  of  the  Church's  necessities. 
Without  the  advantages  of  acquiring  a  ripe  educa- 
tion, he,  nevertheless,  is  at  home  in  the  common,  the 
utilitarian  branches,  and,  we  believe,  possesses  a 
smattering  of  the  dead  languages.  Consecrated  to 
God  for  the  work  of  the  ministry  in  holy  baptism,  in 
early  infancy, 'by  a  pious  mother,  the  offering  seems 
always  to  have  been  accepted;  and  its  subject,  from 
receiving  a  conscious  visitation  of  God  at  the  early 
age  of  seven  years,  while  his  tiny  hands  were  gather- 
ing the  flowers  of  the  wilderness,  seems  always  to 
have  been  upon  the  altar.  At  the  age  of  fifteen, 
conversion  and  a  call  to  the  ministry  were  expe- 
rienced and  understood,  and  a  hesitating  vow  to  com- 
ply with  the  latter  was  made  to  Him,  who  alone 
calleth  men  to  this  honor,  for  no  man  taketh  it  to 


398       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

himself  unless  he  is  called  of  God,  as  was  Aaron. 
The  call,  however,  was  at  first  resisted,  which,  as 
often  happens,  was  followed  by  a  loss  of  religious 
enjoyment.  This  was  restored  when  Brother  F.  sum- 
moned up  the  resolution  to  say,  "  Here  I  am,  Lord, 
send  me."  In  1829  we  see  his  name  as  a  probationer 
in  the  Maine  Conference,  of  which  conference  he 
subsequently  became  a  member,  and  so  continues 
until  this  day.  Of  his  standing  in  his  conference 
something  may  be  inferred  from  the  following  facts. 
During  the  twenty-seven  years  of  his  ministry  he  has 
had  but  fourteen  charges,  thus  nearly  always  being 
returned  the  second  year.  He  has  twice  been  presid- 
ing elder,  and  six  years  stationed  in  Portland,  his 
present  field  of  labor.  He  has  never  left  a  charge 
without  leaving  some  fruit  of  his  labors.  Though 
disclaiming  all  special  ability  to  preach  set  sermons 
for  set  occasions,  yet  his  brethren  have  called  upon 
him,  during  his  itinerant  career,  to  consecrate  some 
twenty-one  of  their  churches.  A  diffidence,  com- 
pounded of  that  quality  and  modesty,  constitutes  a 
marked  trait  of  his  clerical  intercourse  with  his 
brethren.  This,  however,  is  not  so  excessive  as  to 
enervate  his  self-reliance.  He  is  a  man,  therefore, 
who  will  be  in  nobody's  way,  while  it  will  be  every- 
one's delight  to  stand  out  of  his,  do  his  merits  justice, 
admire  him  highly,  and  love  him  more.  Homely  as 
ourself,  no  one  seems  to  lay  this  to  his  charge ;  in 


REV    F.    C.    HOLLIDAY.  399 

fact,  we  believe  the  belief  is  general  that  he  could 
not  help  it.  "Well,  notwithstanding  this  last  compli- 
ment we  have  paid  him,  we  shall  not  only  not  fear 
to  meet  our  excellent  brother  again,  but  shall  do  all 
we  can  to  bring  so  pleasing  an  event  about.  But  if 
unsuccessful  on  earth,  there  is  a  world  where  we  do 
not  expect  to  be. 


REV.   FERNANDO   C.   HOLLIDAY,  A.M., 

OF    THE    SOUTHEASTERN    INDIANA    CONFERENCE. 

AMONG  those  who  are  first  and  latest  in  their  seats, 
during  the  session  of  the  Conference,  may  be  men- 
tioned Fernando  Cortes  Holliday,  the  whilom  chum 
and  classmate  of  our  boyhood,  and  one  of  our 
cherished  friends.  He  sits  now  in  an  advanced 
position  of  the  semicircles  that  are  arranged  in  front 
of  the  speaker's  desk,  watching  the  speaker's  eye 
with  the  carefulness  of  a  kingfisher,  and  seldom  fails 
to  get  the  floor  in  a  contest  with  the  oldest  parlia- 
mentarian. Albeit,  the  charge  we  hear  brought 
against  some,  lies  not  at  his  door.  He  does  not  deem 
it  necessary  to  make  a  speech  on  every  subject  that 
comes  before  the  body.  Indeed,  he  speaks  but 
rarely,  and  then  briefly,  and  generally  to  the  point ; 
a  quality  this,  we  have  always  thought,  indicative  of 


400       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

men  of  the  greatest  influence,  either  in  ecclesiastical 
or  civil  assemblies.  A  man  that  is  always  on  his 
feet,  becomes  a  monopolist  of  the  time  of  his 
brethren,  and  it  will  not  be  surprising  if  he  be 
charged  with  a  less  welcome  virtue  than  that  of 
rudeness — egotism. 

Physically,  Brother  Holliday  tends  to  corpulence, 
a  little  below  the  medium  in  stature,  and  made  to 
limp  by  a  most  severe  affliction  of  erysipelas  about, 
sixteen  years  ago,  which  terminated  in  an  obstinate 
suppuration  of  the  knee-joint.  His  lameness,  how- 
ever, scarcely  stamps  him  an  invalid,  and  he  walks 
with  much  erectness  and  rapidity.  His  etiquettica? 
air  is  naturally  urbane,  the  law  of  kindness  lights  up 
his  whole  demeanor,  and  we  have  seldom  met  him 
without  being  greeted  with  a  smile,  while  he  seems  to 
enjoy,  as  much  as  any  one  we  ever  knew,  a  good, 
hearty,  anti-dyspeptic,  but  not  obstreperous  laugh. 

Genius,  with  her  saddened  hues  and  deepened 
lines,  has  not  placed  her  signet  upon  him.  Imagina- 
tion he  has  none,  but  he  delights  in  its  creative 
potency  in  others.  Fancy  has  been  more  liberal -to 
him,  and  the  mild,  the  gentle,  the  lovely,  and  the 
placid,  often  mingle  prominently  with  the  furniture 
of  his  mind.  He  would  gaze  in  -rapture  on  simple 
beauty,  but  go  to  sleep  on  a  sunny  day  to  the  music 
of  Niagara.  He  is  a  sound,  though  not  profound 
logician,  and  is  much  oftener  right  in  his  conclusions 


REV.    F.    C.    HOLLIDAY.  401 

than  those  who  pass  as  being  much  more  profound. 
When  nature  made  him,  she  seems  to  have  said,  I 
will  try  my  hand  on  making  one  purely  sensible 
man.  As  a  preacher,  his  sermons  are  always 
eminently  marked  with  a  chasteness  and  great  intel- 
ligibility of  language,  constructed  upon  some  great 
principle,  with  all  the  mechanical  regularity  of  a 
Yankee  cottage,  smiling  in  snowy  whiteness  from  its 
nestling-place,  amid  grass  and  evergreens.  Flowers 
are  not  numerous,  if  we  except — to  drop  the  figure — 
now  and  then  an  exotic  in  the  form  of  poetry.  His 
sermons  are  evidently  well-studied,  and  to  hear  him 
from  the  same  text  the  se6ond  time,  one  would  be 
ready  to  conclude  that  he  is,  to  a  large  extent,  a 
memoriter  preacher.  But  let  no  one  suppose  that 
his  sermons  are  delivered  in  any  sense  as  a  school- 
boy parrots  his  piece.  The  fact  is,  this  is  the  man- 
ner of  preparation  adapted  to  the  very  constitution 
of  Brother  H.'s  mind.  Being,  therefore,  perfectly 
natural,  everything  appears  so  to  his  audience,  and 
for  years  he  has  stood  at  the  head  of  his  conference, 
as  one  of  its  first  preachers.  For  instructiveness,  and 
what  we  will  call  winningness  and  lasting  impressive- 
ness,  there  are  but  few  sermons  preached  that  equal 
Brother  Holliday's,-  take  him,  as  we  will  say,  upon 
the  average.  His  early  advantages  were  limited,  but 
he  had  a  care  to  triumph  over  the  rigor  of  fortune, 
planned  his  own  curriculum  of  study  with  such  aids 


402       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

as  he  had  at  hand,  pursued  a  regular  course,  and 
became  self-graduated.  "Whether  he  ever  had  resort 
to  the  conferring  of  a  degree  upon  himself,  which  he 
certainly  merited,  and  which,  perhaps,  would  have 
done  just  as  well,  we  never  inquired,  but  we  do  re- 
member that,  in  1850,  he  received  the  degree  of 
A.M.  from  the  M'Kendree  College,  in  Illinois.  If 
not  extensively  accurate  in  science,  as  few  men  thus 
educated  are,  it  is  richly  atoned  for  by  that  extended 
information  to  which,  contradistinguishingly,  we  may 
give  the  name  of  learning.  He  commenced  the 
ministry,  as  too  many  have,  too  early,  probably.  We 
heard  him  exhort  in  his  sixteenth  year,  he  was 
licensed  to  preach  in  his  seventeenth,  and  in  his 
eighteenth  we  find  him  bobbing  along  on  horse- 
back, around  one  of  those  extensive  circuits  that 
were  then  to  be  found  in  Southern  and  Middle 
Indiana.  He  has  been  in  the  traveling  connection 
ever  since,  being  now  about  forty-one  years  of  age, 
and  has  filled  all  the  offices  in  his  Church,  (and  also 
many  of  the  stations  of  the  first  class,)  from  class- 
leader  to  presiding  elder,  and  is  now,  we  believe,  for 
the  first  time,  a  delegate  to  the  General  Conference, 
where  every  one  believes  that  he  fills  well  his  seat. 
His  ministry  and  administration  have  always  been 
successful  and  satisfactory  to  his  brethren,  by  whom 
he  is  now  esteemed  for  his  works'  sake.  His  influ- 
ence has  often  been  more  like  the  brook  that  mean- 


REV.    JOHN    HANNAH.  403 

ders  noiselessly  through  the  grass-field,  watering  un- 
told thousands  of  roots,  than  the  cascade  leaping  in 
silvery  sheen,  with  a  song  of  wildness,  from  the 
mountain  side.  He  is  one  of  those  men  to  whom 
critics  must  hesitate  to  give  the  title  of  greatness, 
and  yet  there  is  so  much  of  the  truly  great  about 
him,  that,  as  a  Methodist  preacher,  he  would  be  be- 
loved and  useful  in  any  part  of  our  work,  from  the 
metropolitan  church  to  the  log-cabin  on  the  frontier. 
He  writes  occasionally,  and  is  not  unknown  as  an 
author.  He  is  the  author  of  the  "  Life  and  Times  of 
Rev.  A.  Wiley ;"  also,  of  the  Anniversary  Book  for 
the  use  of  Sunday  schools,  besides  several  tracts  and 
fugitive  sermons. 


REV.    JOHN    HANNAH,    D.D., 

DELEGATE    FROM   THE    BRITISH    CONFERENCE. 

YESTERDAY  (Sabbath)  we  went  to  hear  Dr.  Hannah 
in  the  morning,  in  "Wesley  Chapel,  which  was 
crowded  at  an  early  hour.  The  sermon  was  founded 
on  Ephesians  i,  13,  14,  and  might  be  fittingly  enough 
denominated  the  gifts,  offices,  and  fruits  of  the 
Holy  Spirit.  The  whole  sermon  was  threaded  with 
unity,  while  the  happiest  of  digressions,  and  most 

appropriate  variety,  filled  up  the  amplifications.     It 

26 


404   GENERAL  CONFERENCE  TAKINGS. 

was  a  beautiful  landscape  slumbering  in  mellow 
sunlight,  divided  by  a  mountain  ridge,  inviting 
rather  than  precipitous,  and  sloping  on  either  hand 
into  wide  and  fruitful  vales.  In  the  sermon  we  were 
not  disappointed,  but  in  the  manner  of  the  preacher 
we  were  most  seriously.  He  is  the  victim  of  a 
chronic  mannerism,  most  probably  the  result  of  a 
false  education  in  his  youthful  days,  and  which  has 
now  fixed  itself  upon  him;  and  while  it  has  thus 
become  to  him  second  nature,  to  everybody  else,  as  it 
seems  to  us,  it  must  appear  very  unnatural.  He 
reads  his  hymn  in  a  sing-song  tone,  so  dovetailing 
one  word  into  another  that  it  is  difficult  to  understand 
him.  He  stands  in  the  pulpit  with  his  left  foot 
advanced  and  a-kimboed,  giving  one  the  impression 
that  his  position  is  one  of  pain.  His  arms  are 
tolerably  well  provided  for,  as  they  are  both  used 
about  equally,  while  the  prominent  gesture  is  that  of 
extending  them  as  if  to  embrace  you.  As  he  warms 
up  in  preaching,  his  voice  becomes  less  unnatural, 
and  sometimes,  when  he  seems  to  get  into  the  region 
of  self-unconsciousness,  one  feels  momentarily  re- 
lieved. But,  notwithstanding  these  external  defects, 
Dr.  Hannah  is  a  workman  that  needeth  not  to 
be  ashamed,  a  messenger  of  the  everlasting  Gospel 
full  of  holy  unction;  and  to  sit  under  one  of  his 
sermons,  is  to  inhale  a  spiritual  atmosphere,  the 
refreshing  and  strengthening  power  of  which  is  of  no 


REV.    JOHN    HANNAH.  405 

transient  continuance.  Occasionally  we  broke  the 
fixed  spell  that  the  speaker  exerted  over  us,  and 
glanced  over  his  audience,  during  the  rendering 
of  some  of  his  most  startling  passages.  We  shall 
never  forget  the  tout  ensemble  that  met  our  gaze. 
Every  face  was  upturned,  and  as  still  as  if  petrified, 
while  lips  quivered  and  tears  coursed  down  the 
cheeks,  reminding  one  of  a  flower  garden  in  a  spring 
morning  trembling  in  the  zephyr's  early  breath,  and 
bespangled  with  countless  drops  of  dew.  May  the 
Lord  raise  up  thousands  upon  thousands  of  such 
preachers  to  bless  our  Israel,  both  on  this  and  the 
other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Dr.  Hannah's  defect  in 
manner  alluded  to,  is  but  another  illustration  of 
the  fact,  that  human  greatness  in  this  world  is  always 
in  the  ore,  and  never  in  the  unmixed  or  smelted 
state.  This  is  right.  A  perfection  that  would  forbid 
further  progress  would  be  one  of  the  greatest  of 
misfortunes  that  could  befall  man. 


406       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS 


REV.  HIRAM  MATTISON,  A.M., 

OF   THE    BLACK   RIVER    CONFERENCE. 

As  yet,  our  "  takings"  of  men  have  been  few  and 
meager.  Delicate  as  is  this  department,  one  in  which 
caution  should  be  the  cardinal  virtue,  or  else  the  pen 
may  become  a  thorn  to  the  heart  of  friendship,  or  a 
fountain  of  disgust;  yet  to  redeem  our  promise  to 
our  readers,  we  have  determined  to  adventure  into 
this  region,  and  throw  off  some  charcoal  sketches. 
We  are  tempted  to  commence  at  this  moment  with 
Professor  Mattison,  a  man  well  known  in  the  Church, 
and  whose  fame  is  much  more  enviable  than  that  of 
notoriety.  He  sits  now  directly  before  -us,  in  total 
ignorance  of  our  intended  onslaught  upon  him,  with 
pencil  and  papers  in  one  hand,  (he  is  never  without 
them,)  leaning  a  little  forward,  and  watching  with 
intense  interest  the  tide  of  debate  as  it  flows  and 
foams  (pardon  this  frothy  figure !)  in  counter-currents 
along.  In  person,  the  professor  is  slender,  lithy,  and 
wiry,  indicating  great  activity  and  powers  of  endu- 
rance. He  is  as  straight  as  an  Indian,  with  neck  a 
little  too  attenuated,  and  which  he  always  seems  to 
like  to  bind  up  with  a  challengeless  white  cravat,  ad- 
justed in  a  style  the  most  cm  fait.  The  entire  con- 


REV.    HIRAM    MATTISON.  407 

tour  of  his  face  and  head  does  not  indicate  genius  as 
much  as  generosity,  talent  as  much  as  indomitable 
energy:  in  other  words,  the  moral  sentiments,  sweet 
and  bland  in  essence,  with  a  little  angularity  of  ex- 
hibition, are  more  prominent  than  the  intellectual. 
Upon  a  closer  inspection,  versatility  of  intellect  be- 
comes a  prominent  impression.  He  will  succeed  in 
whatever  he  undertakes,  and  he  may  safely  under- 
take more  things  than  most  men.  Energy  in  him  is 
much  more  than  a  substitute  for  genius  in  some.  A 
kind  of  a  bloodhound  power  to  hang  on,  is  a  talent 
in  him,  before  which  Malakoffs  would  crumble.  Not 
that  he  is  destitute  of  either  talent  or  genius,  but 
possesses  both  in  a  high  degree  about  equally  com- 
bined, and  compounded  with  the  qualities  which  we 
have  just  described.  He  is  one  of  that  numerous 
host  of  marked  men,  whose  early  advantages  were 
few.  Theology,  with  the  natural  sciences  as  a  com- 
mentary, is  his  favorite  study.  The  Author  of  nature 
is  the  Author  of  the  Bible.  Mr.  M.  is  author  of  sev- 
eral highly  approved  works  on  philosophy  and  as- 
tronomy. He  also  published,  if  we  remember  right, 
in  1840,  an  able  little  work  on  the  Trinity,  which  is 
now  on  our  tract  list,  and  has  passed  through  some 
six  or  seven  editions.  Like  all  authors,  he  feels  the 
truth  of  the  sentiment,  that  of  the  making  of  books 
there  is  no  end,  and  we  have  somewhere  stolen  the 
secret  that  a  work  has  been  growing  on  his  hands,  for 


408      GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

a  number  of  years,  on  the  life  and  immortality  of  the 
soul,  and  the  resurrection  of  the  body.  As  there  is 
about  the  man,  what  is  true,  we  believe,  of  all  planets, 
some  eccentricities,  so  the  means  of  his  conversion 
were  somewhat  peculiar.  He  was  converted  through 
the  instrumentality  of  Pollok's  Course  of  Time.  "We 
hope  the  poor,  consumptive-smitten  poet,  who  actu 
ally  has  been  more  read  than  Milton,  though  in 
finitely  less  praised,  knows  this  fact  in  heaven.  Pro 
fessor  Mattison  is  about  forty-five  years  of  age, 
though  one,  in  guessing  at  his  age,  would  be  just  as 
apt  to  put  the  figures  at  thirty-five.  He  joined  the 
Black  River  Conference  in  1836,  of  which  he  is  still 
a  member,  and  from  which  he  is  an  able  and  reliable 
delegate  to  this  body.  His  health,  we  believe,  has 
several  times  failed  him,  owing,  doubtless,  to  the  fact 
of  his  studious  and  hard-working  habits.  In  fifty- 
two,  both  from  sanitary  considerations  and  because  he 
was  needed,  by  the  authority  of  Bishop  "Waugh  he 
was  appointed  pastor  of  the  famous  old  John-street 
Church,  in  New- York.  From  thence  he  was  called 
to  take  charge  of  a  new  church  enterprise  "  up  town," 
where  he  has  remained  to  this  present.  By  the  aid 
of  a  few  energetic  and  liberal  brethren,  whose  efforts 
have  been  wisely  stimulated  by  his  own  enterprise 
and  diplomacy,  a  church,  said  to  equal,  in  architect- 
ural convenience  and  befittingness,  anything  of  the 
sort  in  America,  has  been  erected.  Professor  Matti- 


REV.    ISAAC    M.    LEIHY.  409 

eon  is  an  able  preacher,  a  versatile  but  generally 
over-pungent  writer,  sincerely  devoted  to  every  inter? 
est  of  the  Church  ;  a  Christian  not  by  profession,  but 
experience ;  a  preacher  not  professionally,  but  one 
moved  from  within  rather  than  without;  a  fast  and 
generous  friend,  and  firm,  tenacious,  and  successful 
defender  of  the  faith.  The  Church  and  the  world 
have  need  of  him,  and  thousands  more  like  him. 


REV.   ISAAC  M.   LEIHY, 

OF   THE    WISCONSIN    CONFERENCE. 

THE  valueless  often  glitters  upon  the  surface,  and 
obtrudes  upon  the  gaze.  Treasures  are  generally 
hidden,  and  are  to  be  sought  for.  The  world's  best 
men,  if  not  the  greatest,  compose  a  majority  the  least 
known.  Unobtrusive  modesty  is  preeminently  a  promi- 
nent characteristic  of  the  subject  of  this  sketch.  He 
has  never  sought  to  be  known,  and  the  reputation  he 
has,  is  like  his  shadow,  what  he  could  not  prevent. 
Goodness,  firmness,  sound  judgment,  and  force 
of  character,  being  always  in  demand,  Brother  Leihy 
is  one  whom  his  Conference  delighteth  to  honor ;  and 
while  he  stands  in  its  van,  they  have  wisely  com- 
mitted to  him  the  task  of  representing  its  interests  in 


410      GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

the  General  Conference.  Though  not  one  of  the 
speaking  members  of  that  body,  for  he  speaks  but 
seldom,  which  is  to  be  regretted,  yet  he  exerts 
an  influence  upon  that  undercurrent  of  power  which 
does  more  to  control  the  action  of  the  body  than  if 
he  made,  as  some  are  said  to  have  done,  .^a  dozen 
speeches  a  day.  He  is  medium  in  stature,  firm, 
square,  straight,  and  symmetrically  built,  sallow  in 
countenance,  studiously  neat  in  attire,  with  his 
general  features  sharpened,  indicating  taste  in 
manners,  with  a  firmness  of  determination  that 
would  be  quite  as  apt  to  lean  toward  the  stubbornness 
of  the  martyr,  as  to  yield  in  the  day  of  temptation. 
As  the  Irishman's  farm-house  covered  the  most  of  his 
domain,  so  his  mouth  when  opened  (the  editor 
should  have  a  care  how  he  talks  of  such  things) 
covers  a  veiy  large  portion  of  his  face.  His  eye  and 
brow  indicate  strong  sense  blended  with  great 
earnestness.  His  temperament,  though  of  the  san- 
guine bilious,  is  so  ballasted  with  the  phlegmatic, 
that  he  furnishes  an  example  of  coolness  and  self- 
possession,  which  many  who  might  justly  set  up 
higher  claims  to  mental  potency,  are  seldom  found  to 
exemplify.  He  would  have  made  a  good  admiral, 
and  scarcely  have  taken  the  glass  from  his  eye  in  a 
critical  moment,  even  should  the  leaden  messenger 
of  destruction  carry  away  a  limb.  To  be  cool  and 
collected  while  opponents  are  inordinately  excited  is 


EEV.    ISAAC    M.    LEIHT.  411 

a  vantage-ground  which  a  polemic  knows  well  how 
to  appreciate.  In  argument  he  is  terse,  transparent, 
and  syllogistic,  and  rests  often  even  with  an  over- 
weening confidence  in  his  conclusions.  His  is  not 
an  egotistic  confidence,  but  that  which  a  truth-loving 
mind  feels  when  he  believes  himself  planted  on  that 
everlasting  rock.  Great  earnestness  is  the  promi- 
nent quality  of  his  preaching.  This,  like  a  shower 
upon  the  thirsty  land,  always  imparts  to  his  sermons 
the  power  to  refresh,  even  where  one  is  not  con- 
scious of  receiving  much  additional  instruction.  But 
his  preaching  seldom  wants  this  quality — instruction. 
It  is  generally  rich  in  Methodist  theology,  not 
delivered  in  the  mere  hackneyed  terms  of  the  text- 
books and  the  skeleton  form  of  first,  secondly,  and 
thirdly,  but  a  principle  of  truth  is  announced,  and 
then  amplified  by  copious  and  pertinent  quotations 
of  Scripture.  And  as  to  accuracy  (  one  of  the  great 
beauties  in  preaching)  of  his  Scriptural  quotations, 
this  is  a  marked  peculiarity  in  Brother  Leihy's 
sermonizing.  He  is  about  forty-six  years  of  age,  and 
as  to  education,  his  early  advantages  were  such  as  an 
imperfect  system  of  common  schools  could  confer. 
He  studied  subsequently  in  Cazenovia  Seminary,  and 
is  not  without  highly  respectable  attainments  in 
letters.  He  joined  the  Rock  River  Conference  in 
1843,  and  is  now  a  member  of  the  Wisconsin  Con- 
ference, and  presiding  elder  on  Fond  du  Lac  District. 


412      GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

Many  of  the  circuits  and  districts  on  which  he  has 
traveled  in  the  West,  have  been  emphatically  in  the 
backwoods,  and  were  he  disposed,  he  could  reveal 
many  incidents  of  toil  and  triumph,  of  the  ludicrous 
and  the  chivalrous,  peculiar  to  such  a  rude  and 
inceptive  state  of  society.  Like  most  other  frontier 
preachers,  these  memories  of  pleasure,  greatly 
mixed,  are,  after  all,  cherished  as  among  the  purest 
of  our  life.  Originally  a  New-Yorker,  he  is  now 
identified  with  the  great  and  growing  "West,  where 
long  may  he  stand  a  pillar  in  the  Church  of  our 
God. 


REV.  P.  J.  JOBSON,  A.M., 

DELEGATE    FROM   THE    BRITISH    CONFERENCE. 

REV.  MK.  JOBSON,  assistant  delegate  from  the  Brit- 
ish Conference,  preached  to  a  very  large  audience  in 
Roberts  Chapel,  on  Sunday  night.  Though  we  did 
not  hear  him,  and,  therefore,  cannot  delineate  his 
manner  in  the  pulpit,  nor  even  announce  the  gist  of 
his  sermon,  yet  we  have  heard  the  effort  spoken  of  as 
one  of  mental  magnificence  and  supreme  unction,  not 
at  all  inferior  to  that  of  his  colleague  in  the  morning, 
while  many  give  preference  to  his  manner.  The 
physique  of  Mr.  Jobson  may  be  described  in  general 


REV.    F.    J.    JOBSON.  413 

terms  as  that  of  a  short,  fat,  burly,  homely  man.  His 
feet  are  as  short  as  those  of  a  Chinese,  his  hands  and 
fingers  are  short,  his  legs  are  short,  his  nose  is  short, 
his  neck  and  ears  are  short,  the  latter  looking  like 
the  half  of  a  plump  blue  peach  stuck  flat  on  to  jowls 
as  round  and  plump  as  a  Yankee  pumpkin ;  his  brow 
is  short,  his  eyes  are  small  and  piercing,  but  as  good 
fortune  would  have  it  in  view  of  our  favorite  theory, 
his  mouth  is  not  short,  it  is  not  round  and  puckering, 
it  is  just  such  an  opening  in  a  man's  face  as  we  gen- 
erally find  in  the  orator.  He  is  full  of  emotion,  and 
never  seems  to  be  getting  up  steam*  as  we  Americans 
say,  but  is  always  letting  it  off,  and,  seemingly,  it 
sometimes  lifts  the  heavy  valve  in  spite  of  himself, 
and  momentarily  carries  him  up  as  in  a  whirlwind  of 
fire.  He  occasionally  startles  you  with  paradoxes,  sud- 
denly drops  in  a  most  brilliant  parenthesis,  thrilling  his 
audience  with  surprise,  as  when  an  omnibus  driver, 
under  a  sweeping  trot,  instantly  stops  his  team  quite 
near  the  bottom  of  a  hill.  He  is  emphatically  a  ty- 
rant of  an  orator,  and  determined  that  his  audience 
shall  not  control  him,  but  that  he  will  control  them, 
and  sweet  and  luxurious  was  the  control  which  he 
exerted  over  the  hundreds  that  hung  upon  his  lips  on 
Sunday  night  last.  We  have  called  him  a  homely 
man ;  it  would,  certainly,  be  very  erroneous  to  call 
him  a  handsome  one,  and  yet  is  there  a  moral  beauty 
that  comes  out  upon  his  short  features,  like  the  sun, 


414       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

which  on  the  other  side  of  the  jagged  cloud,  still 
sends  its  rays  through  the  ruggedness  of  nature,  at- 
tracting the  eye  with  the  commingled  hues  of  the 
vermilion,  the  violet,  and  the  rose-bud.  A  mind  and 
soul  on  which  the  beauty  of  the  Lord  our  God  has 
long  shone,  render  attractive,  we  have  often  thought, 
the  roughest  of  tenements.  Mr.  Jobson  is,  evidently, 
a  man  of  high  mental  attainments,  and  of  great  re- 
finement of  manners.  He  is,  manifestly,  less  cautious 
and  more  progressive  and  outspoken  than  is  his  able 
colleague.  We  should  think,  withal,  that  his  diges- 
tion has  always  been  good,  and  in  view  of  the  fact 
that  English  roast  beef  is  the  best  in  the  world,  that 
had  he  not  possessed  great  symmetrical  force  of  char- 
acter— had  not  his  mental  appetite  always  been  as 
good  as  his  physical,  the  world  would  never  have 
witnessed  so  long-headed  a  man,  intellectually,  on  so 
short  and  fat  a  man,  physically.  And  here  we  must 
pen  a  thought  that  struck  us  as  we  saw  him  for  the 
first  time,  when  introduced  to  the  Conference,  and 
from  which  almost  momentary  impression  we  have 
made  up  this  sketch.  The  thought  was  this:  How 
must  a  man  feel  whose  conscience  is  clear,  whoso 
honors  are  more  than  princely,  whose  sphere  of  use- 
fulness might  tempt  an  angel,  and  who,  at  the  same 
time,  should  feel  almost  continuously,  as  Mr.  Jobson 
must  feel,  the  sensations  of  perfect  health.  "We  lifted 
our  own  skeleton  and  fevered  hand  to  our  brow,  and 


REV.   F.  J.  JOB  SON.  415 

remembering  that  we  had  no  recollection  of  an  hour's 
ease  from  pain  during  nearly  half  of  our  life,  we  in- 
voluntarily uttered,  it  never  entered  into  our  heart  to 
conceive  of  the  felicity  which  it  falls  to  the  lot  of 
such  a  one  to  enjoy,  even  out  of  heaven.  But,  after 
all,  human  happiness  is  mixed;  appearances  often 
deceive  us;  factitious  circumstances  are  vastly  over- 
rated; every  ^eart  knows  its  own  grief;  and,  as  the 
old  Egyptians  used  to  say,  there  is  a  skeleton  in  every 
house,  whether  it  be  the  palace  of  the  monarch,  or 
the  hovel  of  the  mendicant.  The  differences  in  the 
various  allotments  of  life,  though  undoubtedly  wide 
and  real,  yet,  as  its  regards  the  well-spring  of  joy 
which  bubbles  up  in  every  heart,  the  refreshment  it 
imparts  to  its  possessor,  as  it  respects  its  degree,  ca- 
pacity considered,  are  vastly  over-estimated.  And 
as  to  the  true  source  of  joy,  like  the  ocean  to  all 
streams,  God  alone  can  supply  this  to  the  soul. 
These  are  reflections  that  should  reconcile  man  to  his 
lot.  Temporal  and  external  inequalities  need  not 
render  our  privileges  to  drink  to  our  fill  unequal. 
And  O,  blessed  Saviour !  when  thou  art  near,  even 
pain  is  sweet,  toil  is  rest,  and  death  but  a  call  into 
the  regions  of  life,  where  neither  pain,  toil,  nor  death 
can  distract,  waste,  or  alarm. 

Mr.  Jobson,  in  his  address  before  the  British  "Wes- 
leyan  Conference,  after  his  return  home,  gave,  among 
other  matters  of  interest,  an  account  of  his  preaching 


416       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

in  the  Sharpe-street  Colored  Methodist  Church,  Bal- 
timore. We  subjoin  his  description  of  the  occasion : 
"The  church  was  crowded  in  all  parts,  and  many  went 
away,  unable  to  gain  admission.  There  were  pews 
and  sittings,  but  these  were  not  made  of  much  ac- 
count— the  people  seemed  literally  jammed  together. 
And  O  !  the  sight  of  those  black  beaming  faces,  those 
thousands  of  upturned  negro  imploring  eyes ;  for,  as 
my  brethren,  the  returned  missionaries,  will  bear  wit- 
ness, there  is  a  peculiar  devotional  look  in  the  eye  oi 
a  worshiping  negro  that  cannot  be  described.  When 
I  looked  upon  them  I  fully  realized  the  meaning  of 
old  Thomas  Fuller's  saying  concerning  the  dark-col- 
ored race,  'God's  children  carved  in  ebony.'  Their 
singing  was  most  fervent  and  harmonious;  such  as 
belong  only  to  African  voices — and  their  prayers 
were  devout  and  earnest.  I  preached  to  them  on  the 
freeness  and  fullness  of  Gospel  salvation,  sounding 
forth  to  them  the  good  news  of  the  great  Gospel  sup- 
per provided  for  the  poor,  the  maimed,  the  halt,  the 
blind,  and  for  the  unsheltered  outcasts  of  men  in  the 
highways  and  hedges  of  human  society.  And  if  I 
must  speak  of  myself,  as  I  am  forced  to  do  in  this 
case,  then  I  would  say,  I  preached  with  all  my  heart 
and  life,  and  till  nature  was  wrung  to  its  very  withers 
with  intensity  of  feeling.  The  scene,  as  it  spread 
itself  before  me,  was,  in  a  mere  picturesque  aspect, 
most  exciting  and. inspiring.  There  were  some  him- 


REV.   F.   J.  JOBSON.  417 

dreds  of  slaves  there,  and  many  who  were  free. 
Some  of  the  freemen  wore  clothed  in  superfine  broad 
black  cloth,  and  with  an  excess  of  white  collar  and 
wristband.  Within  the  communion  rails  sat  some 
twenty  black,  woolly-headed  local  preachers  and 
deacons,  well-dressed,  and  white  neckerchiefs  of  the 
old  Methodist  form.  Some  of  the  females  had  on  the 
African  turban,  in  colors  of  red,  blue,  and  yellow; 
others,  of  the  free  class,  had  on  the  European  bonnet, 
and  were  clothed  in  rich  white  muslins  and  silks. 
But  beyond  the  general  aspect  of  the  congregation, 
the  presence  and  power  of  God  were  there,  and  the 
effects  were  most  striking.  For  a  time  the  people 
kept  silent,  except  that  now  and  then  arose  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  church  an  exclamation,  such  as, 
*  Blessed  be  de  name  of  Jesus !'  '  Halleluiah  to  de 
Lamb !'  and  their  black  faces  beamed  and  shone 
again  with  religious  rapture.  At  length  they  began 
to  move  and  heave  like  waves  of  the  sea.  Then 
the  floods  lifted  up  their  voice  and  clapped  their 
hands ;  then  their  mouth  was  filled  with  laughter  and 
their  tongue  with  singing;  and  at  length,  clearing 
spaces  around  them,  they  literally  leaped  up  from 
the  ground  as  high  as  this  platform  table,  and  danced 
for  joy.  But  in  all  this,  there  was  nothing  irreverent 
or  un  devout,  and  nothing  to  confuse  or  confound  the 
preacher.  They  made  two  collections  in  that  service, 
for  our  colored  brethren  have  no  idea  of  appearing 


418   GENERAL  CONFERENCE  TAKINGS. 

before  the  Lord  empty ;  and,  after  the  second  collec- 
tion, we  tried  to  dismiss  the  congregation,  but  they 
would  not  depart.  They  would  still  sing  and  praise 
God.  And  I,  too,  had  difficulty  in  getting  out  of  the 
church.  Black  hands  were  thrust  forth  to  me  in  all 
directions,  accompanied  with  expressions  such  as, 
'Bless  you,  English  massa!  and  bless  the  great 
Massa  in  heben  for  the  word  which  you  bring !'  It 
was,  indeed,  a  memorable  service,  my  most  memor- 
able service  in  the  work  of  Christ,  such  as  verbal 
description  can  never  make  known." 


REV.  W.  L.  HARRIS,  D.D., 

SECRETARY    OF   THE    LAST    GENERAL    CONFERENCE. 

Press  on !  for  it  is  God-like  to  unloose 
The  spirit,  and  forget  yourself  in  thought ; 
Bending  a  pinion  for  the  deeper  sky, 
And,  in  the  very  fetters  of  your  flesh, 
Mating  with  the  pure  essences  of  heaven ! 
Press  on !  "  for  in  the  grave  there  is  no  work, 

And  no  device."    Press  on,  while  yet  you  may. 

• 

THE  subject  of  this  sketch  is  Secretary  of  the  Gen- 
eral Conference ;  an  office  of  great  labor,  delicacy, 
and  responsibility.  A  good  secretary  must  have  the 
pen  of  a  ready  writer,  be  a  Regulus  in  integrity,  and 
possess  the  politeness  of  a  Chesterfield  without  its  ridic- 


BE  V.    W.    L.    HARRIS.  419 

ulousness  and  hypocrisy.  The  promotion  of  Brother 
H.  to  this  office  was  not  a  little  flattering,  in  view  of 
the  very  high  standing  of  his  opponents.  He  was  a 
young  man,  and  untried.  The  satisfaction  which  he 
gave  to  the  last  was  universal.  He  writes  rapidly, 
reads  readily,  and  loud  enough  for  all  to  hear  him. 
The  last  named,  in  our  estimation,  is  a  merit  second 
to  none.  He  seldom  makes  mistakes,  gets  things  tan- 
gled, or  takes  them  by  the  wrong  handle  ;  but  when 
he  does,  he  repairs  the  faux  pas  so  ingeniously  and 
ingenuously,  that  the  blunder  becomes  a  thing  of 
merriment.  At  this  writing,  he  has  completed  his 
secretarial  duties  by  completing  the  editorship  of  the 
Journal  of  the  General  Conference,  which  has  just 
been  issued  from  the  press  of  Carlton  &  Porter.  It  is 
every  way  one  of  the  most  complete  documents  of  the 
kind  with  which  the  Church  has  ever  been  favored. 

Commencing  life  with  an  object,  the  indefatigable 
and  single  pursuit  of  that  object,  though  the  skies  rain 
down  opposition,  constitutes  the  generics  of  Professor 
Harris's  economic  character.  A  generosity  which  is 
superabundant,  impulses  too  strong  for  safety  without 
great  watchfulness,  the  ardent  love  of  friends,  with  a 
disposition  to  forget  enemies  just  a  little  stronger  than 
his  disposition  to  forgive  them,  constitute  the  cardinal 
points  of  his  social  character.  As  a  Christian,  his 
creed  is  settled,  and  he  troubles  no  one  with  visionary 
speculations,  nor  weakens  the  force  of  his  piety  by 
27 


420       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

vacillation.  It  would  be  a  solecism  to  make  Jeremiah 
the  religious  type  of  his  character,  as  it  regards  its 
spirit.  He  will  laugh  through  life,  and  be  constitu- 
tionally an  exemplification  of  the  poet's  line, 

"  Smile  above  a  burning  world." 

"We  wouiQ  not  intimate  by  this,  that  he  keeps  no 
mantle  of  dignity  among  the  provisions  of  his  moral 
wardrobe.  It  is  probable,  however,  the  one  he  has 
will  wear  a  long  time.  He  has  almost  inexhaustible 
powers  of  endurance,  which,  when  flagging,  he  feels 
to  be  speedily  restored  by  what  the  writer  of  these 
lines  never  felt  in  the  same  way,  a  blessing  not  even 
denied  the  sober  Young  among  graves,  that  "  balmy 
sleep"  is  really  a  "sweet  restorer."  His  health  is 
perfect.  He  is  neither  lank  nor  obese.  To  this,  his 
facial  developments  are  somewhat  of  an  exception. 
He  is,  emphatically,  round-faced.  If  it  were  not  for 
those  huge  appendages,  of  which  we  have  no  right  to 
complain,  the  nose  and  the  mouth,  his  face  reminds 
one  of  a  half  of  a  well  and  evenly  developed  autumn 
apple,  flattened,  as  astronomers  say  of  the  earth,  a 
little  at  the  poles.  He  is  good-looking,  because  his 
soul  shines  through  him,  and  for  no  other  reason. 

As  a  preacher,  he  is  a  little  too  logical ;  a  little 
wanting  in  the  popular  element  of  perspicuity,  fringed 
by  those  beauties  of  rhetoric,  like  the  rose  and  violet 
on  the  summer  cloud,  which  come  not  out  of  the  cloud, 


REV.    W.    L.    HARRIS.  421 

but  drop  down  upon  it,  because  it  couldn't  help  it. 
The  cloud  is  fitting  in  its  nature  to  reflect  these  beau- 
ties, but  seeks  not  to  do  it.  A  figure  this  which  we 
hope  illustrates  the  true  relation  of  the  preacher  to 
ornament  in  preaching.  Professor  Harris,  however, 
sets  his  logic  on  fire;  and  though  he  occasionally 
give  to  the  people  that  ask  bread,  a  stone,  it  is  a  hot 
one,  and  heat  is  as  necessary  to  life  as  bread.  But 
this  fault  is  fast  becoming  the  exception,  rather  than 
the  rule,  in  his  pulpit  performances.  Hot  bread, 
rather  than  hot  stones,  is  fast  becoming  the  staple 
commodity.  We  pause  here,  as  we  never  heard  him 
preach,  but  we  know  by  a  species  of  clairvoyance 
just  how  he  does  it.  We  will  only  further  remark, 
that  he  occasionally  startles  his  audience  by  his  rapid 
and  emphatic  utterances,  like  a  certain  engineer  we 
wot  of,  who  puts  the  train  at  a  speed  of  forty  miles 
an  hour,  if  danger  threatens. 

Professor  Harris  now  fills  the  chair  of  Chemistry 
and  Natural  History  in  the  Wesleyan  University  at 
Delaware,  Ohio.  In  the  meantime,  he  has  instructed 
the  classes  in  the  Hebrew  language  and  literature. 
He  is  a  successful  example  of  a  self-made  man. 
Neither  fortune  nor  fair  science  smiled  upon  his 
humble  birth ;  but  despite  the  rigors  of  the  one,  he 
has  successfully  wooed  the  most  lovely  of  the  other. 
The  first  we  can  hear  of  him  as  being  at  school,  was 
a  six  months'  term  which  he  spent  at  Norwalk  Sena- 


422      GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

inary,  then  under  the  principalship  of  Rer.  J.  E.  Chap- 
lin, of  precious  memory,  and  whose  dust  now  sleeps 
in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  prairies  of  Michigan: 
"White  Pigeon.  During  this  time,  like  Lacon,  though 
without  his  diamonds,  he  was  often  compelled,  if  not 
literally,  metaphorically,  to  dine  upon  a  herring,  and 
make  his  breakfast  by  meditating  upon  the  future 
meal,  and  his  supper  by  reflecting  upon  the  past.  His 
education  has  been  mostly  obtained  in  the  active  dis- 
charge of  a  pastor's  duties.  He  has  been  nineteen 
years  a  licensed  preacher,  ten  years  of  which  he  has 
spent  in  the  itinerancy,  and  nine  in  connection  with 
literary  institutions.  He  was  three  years  principal 
of  Baldwin  Institute,  near  Cleveland,  Ohio ;  and  for 
six  years  he  has  been  connected  with  the  Ohio  "Wes- 
ley an  University.  He  was  converted  in  1834,  and  in 
1837  received  into  the  Michigan  Conference,  which 
then  included  Northern  Ohio.  He  is,  as  the  books 
of  Samuel  and  the  Chronicles  so  often  say,  "about 
forty  years  of  age,"  and  has  made  a  noble  beginning 
in  his  career  of  usefulness.  May  he  live  forty  more, 
and  the  fruits  of  his  labors,  like  the  prophetic  handful 
of  corn  upon  the  top  of  the  mountains,  "  shake  like 
Lebanon." 


REV.    ROBINSON    SCOTT.  428 


REV.   ROBINSON  SCOTT, 

OF  THE    IRISH    DEPUTATION. 

YESTEEDAT  was  the  Sabbath,  and,  naturally,  it  was 
a  day  of  peculiar  loveliness,  even  for  this  latitude, 
where  they  boast  of  their  May  sunshine,  vernal 
bloom,  and  balmy  air. 

Such  air  had  been  a  stranger  to  our  lungs  for  years, 
and  as  we  inhaled  it,  our  long-diseased  pulsations 
seemed  to  yield  as  captives,  and  promised  hereafter 
better  behavior.  "We  worshiped  in  Roberts  Chapel, 
and  heard  Rev.  Mr.  Scott,  of  the  Irish  deputation. 
As  the  house  was  crowded  at  an  early  hour,  and  we 
failed  to  arrive  early,  and  as  the  science  of  ventila- 
tion is  about  as  far  behind  the  times  down  here  as 
we  have  generally  found  it  everywhere  'else,  we 
could  do  no  better  than  take  a  back  seat  near  the 
door,  and  obtain  a  little  oxygen  by  turning  our  head 
in  that  direction  at  every  third  breath.  We  heard 
Mr.  Scott,  therefore,  as  many  have  pursued  knowl- 
edge, "  under  difficulties."  As  to  the  man  physically, 
he  is  a  "tall  six-footer;"  his  temperament,  though 
apparently  originally  designed  by  nature,  as  would 
seem  indicated  by  the  contour  of  his  physique,  to  be 
of  the  sanguine  bilious,  is  of  the  nervous  phlegmatic ; 


424       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

« 

little  fire,  no  flights  of  fancy,  no  comet  birthlings  of 
imagination  are  to  be  found  there,  said  we,  at  the 
first  sight.  His  brow  is  lofty  and  amply  projecting, 
eyes  sunken,  but  tame,  cheek-bones  high,  mouth 
large,  but  too  straight,  neck  a  little  disproportion- 
ately small,  and  his  whole  bust  that  which  would 
make  the  eye  of  a  general  flash,  were  he  dressed  iii 
martial  attire  and  deploying  on  the  field.  Sound 
sense,  and  sound  and  useful,  though  not  profound 
and  original,  thought,  with  undoubtedly  a  good 
education,  constitute  the  staple  of  his  mental  wealth. 
As  a  preacher,  he  is  simple  and  self-forgetting, 
expositorial  without  being  critical,  instructive,  but 
not  forcible.  Every  one  must  be  struck  with  his 
candor,  and  can  but  be  impressed  with  the  wakeful- 
ness  and  unction  of  his  pious  emotions.  His  sermon 
abounded  with  anecdotes  and  happy  illustrations,  and 
every  one  came  away  feeling  that  he  had  heard 
many  good  things,  if  not  new  things,  spoken  in  the 
true  spirit  of  goodness  by  a  truly  good  and  useful,  if 
not  great  man.  Mi*.  Scott,  in  the  discharge  of  the 
duties  of  his  mission,  will  probably  visit  our  brethren 
somewhat  extensively  in  the  West. 


REV.   EDWARD  THOMSON.  426 


KEV.  EDWARD  THOMSON,  D.D.,  LL.D., 

PRESIDENT    OF    OHIO   WESLEYAN   UNIVERSITY. 

"  A  leading  captain  of  his  time, 
Rich  in  saving  common  sense, 
And,  as  the  greatest  only  are, 
In  his  simplicity,  sublime." 

WHEN  a  name  ascends  beyond  common  fame  and 
becomes  distinguished,  nothing  is  more  natural  than 
a  desire  to  know  something  of  the  nativity,  early  his- 
tory, individualisms,  or  personal  characteristics  of  its 
possessor.  This  curiosity  is  much  heightened  where 
special  pleasure  has  been  conferred  by  reading  or 
hearing  the  products  of  the  pen  or  tongue  of  the  con- 
genial, though  abler  spirit.  We  believe  this  to  be 
especially  true  of  the  subject  of  this  sketch,  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Ohio  Wesleyan  University.  Owing  to  a 
modesty  which  has  always  shrunk  from  publicity, 
though  never  from  responsibility,  as  naturally  as  does 
the  violet  bow  its  head  to  conceal  its  beauties,  little 
is  generally  known  of  Dr.  Thomson,  only  that  which 
could  but  be  known,  his  public  character  in  the  serv- 
ice of  the  Church  and  the  world.  '  In  person,  the 
doctor  is  a  Zaccheus,  and  when  one  reflects  upon  the 
continuous  tax  which  he  lays  upon  his  brain,  the 
continued  creation  of  new  and  beautiful  thoughts 


426       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS,, 

which  rise  up  in  his  mind  like  beautiful  worlds  bora 
out  of  chaos,  and  surveys  his  frail  and  slender  frame, 
he  will  be  induced  to  tremble  for  the  consequences, 
to  wonder  why  the  sword  does  not  cut  through  the 
flimsy  scabbard.  And  yet,  we  believe,  the  doctor  is 
generally  blessed  with  good  health,  owing,  probably, 
to  a  studious  abstemiousness,  and,  still  more,  owing 
to  moral  causes.  He  possesses  great  equanimity  of 
temperament.  The  passions  that  so  often  blow  a 
hurricane  in  the  breast  of  talent  and  genius,  have 
never  blown  very  hard  in  his.  Advantaged  with 
favorable  idiosyncrasies  of  constitution,  they  seem  to 
have  been  taught  submission  in  very  early  life,  and 
it  is  too  late  now  for  them  ever  to  assume  the  control. 
The  doctor's  patience  is  .positively  profound.  O,  di- 
vine patience,  thou  panacea  for  so  many  of  the  ills  of 
life !  His  benevolence  is  exuberant,  though  discrimi- 
nating; his  philanthropy  broad  as  the  race;  his 
friendship  a  grateful  balm,  the  odors  of  which  in- 
crease with  time ;  his  spirit  of  resentment,  dignified 
and  forbearing;  of  forgiveness,  sweet  and  Saviour- 
like.  A  happier  moral  and  intellectual  symmetry 
is  seldom  to  be  met  with.  As  we  have  intimated, 
there  is  nothing  remarkably  impressive  in  the  phys- 
ique of  the  president.  Phrenology  fingering  his 
cranium  in  the  dark,  would  be  very  apt  to  do  what 
it  often  does,  make  a  sad  revelation  of  its  falsity,  ere 
dulity,  and  folly.  Not  that  he  is  wanting  in  a  highly 


REV.    EDWARD    THOMSON.  427 

intellectual  phiz,  in  a  well-developed  brow,  but  all 
his  features  in  repose  are  so  lit  up  by  a  spirit  of  mild 
kindness  and  sweet  and  active  affection,  that  one 
would  never  dream  of  the  giant  intellect  which  they 
adorn. 

As  a  scholar,  there  is  an  unpretending  ripeness  in 
his  attainments.  He  makes  no  show  of  them,  and 
yet,  they  so  show  themselves  just  where  they  are 
needed,  as  to  impart  to  the  mind  the  highest  degree 
of  pleasure.  His  general  reading  is  extensive,  and 
the  matter  thereof  so  classified,  as  it  would  seem,  by 
a  system  of  mnemotechny,  as  to  make  him  at  home  at 
will  in  any  age  of  the  world,  or  among  any  of  its  na- 
tions. Great  versatility  of  knowledge  will  impress 
any  one  on  hearing  him  deliver  one  of  his  elaborated 
discourses.  And  yet,  this  knowledge  is  made  to 
flow  like  a  perennial  jet  from  the  mountain's  breast, 
suggesting  to  one  the  presence  of  an  unseen  and  ex- 
haustless  reservoir  behind.  As  a  belles-lettres  schol- 
ar, he  stands,  perhaps,  first  in  our  connection.  In 
some  of  his  communications  to  the  Ladies'  Reposi- 
tory, and  in  some  of  the  paragraphs  in  late  volumes 
of  his  published  works,  there  are  literary  beauties 
which  a  Bryant,  an  Irving,  or  a  Montgomery  would, 
and  may  have  paused  to  admire.  Beneath  this  sky 
of  serenest  blue,  and  silvery  and  rosette  clouds,  lin- 
gering in  repose,  and  only  changing  from  beauty  to 
beauty,  there  is  a  stern  world  of  principle.  The 


428       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

doctor  is  no  declaimer,  either  with  the  pen,  or  as  a 
preacher.  He  quarries  primitive  truths  from  the 
deeply-excavated  mine,  and  taking  hold  of  a  great 
principle,  he  hastens  to  reduce  it  to  the  concrete  to 
make  it  practically  useful,  while,  by  its  own  intrinsic 
merits,  it  impresses  the  mind  of  the  reader  or  hearer 
•with  all  the  authority  of  demonstration.  Indeed,  the 
doctor's  logic  mostly  consists  of  a  straightforward 
statement  of  the  truth  in  the  case. 

As  a  preacher,  his  principal  intellectual  character- 
istics consist  of  basing  a  proposition,  or  propositions, 
upon  a  text  of  Scripture,  expounded  in  the  exordium, 
when  he  proceeds  to  illustrate  and  apply  the  princi- 
ples of  those  propositions.  So  far  as  popular  effect 
is  concerned,  illustration  and  anecdote  seem  the 
doctor's  peculiar  forte,  and,  like  Apollo's  quiver,  his 
treasury  of  these  seems  exhaustless.  Illustrations  are 
readily  drawn  from  the  simplest  and  sublimest 
sources ;  from  the  bud,  the  busy  bee,  or  toiling  ant, 
up  to  the  great  globe  on  its  obedient  march.  In 
supplying  these  resources,  nothing  seems  to  have 
escaped  him.  In  all  his  miscellaneous  and  other 
reading,  from  the  village  newspaper  to  the  tome 
musty  with  centuries,  he  seems  to  have  his  mental 
eye  fixed  upon  the  use  to  which  he  can  apply  every 
fact  or  incident  with  which  he  meets,  and  thus,  as  a 
student,  he  is  always  preparing  for  public  exhibition 
and  usefulness.  This  mode  of  studying  in  the  closet 


REV.     EDWARD    THOMSON.  429 

with  his  heart  in  the  lecture-room,  or  pulpit,  keeps  it 
ever  wakeful  to  the  great  mission  of  life,  and 
hence  it  is,  that  a  moral  characteristic  of  the  doctor 
as  a  preacher,  lecturer,  or  platform  speaker,  is  that 
of  continued  earnestness.  There  is  a  spirit  of 
genuine  honest  conviction  and  mellow  earnestness  in 
the  doctor's  public  ministrations,  which  compels  the 
hearer  to  admit  at  once,  that  he  believes  and  feels 
what  he  would  have  others  believe  and  feel.  We 
need  not  say,  that  such  a  speaker  will  always  have 
plenty  of  hearers,  and  satisfied  ones.  Superadded 
to  the  fact  just  named,  we  name  another  subsidiary 
to  it.  It  is  the  doctor's  great  simplicity.  By  simpli- 
city you  are  not  to  understand  superficiality,  or  the 
mere  chaste  and  dignified  delivery  of  trite  truths, 
which  has  often  been  made  to  pass  for  simplicity 
in  the  pulpit,  when,  in  fact,  it  is  the  mere  platitude 
of  scholarship,  and  the  essence  of  learned  dullness, 
though  the  speaker  may  seem  to  take  fire  over 
burning  oil,  which  lie  has  never  beaten  out  for  the 
sanctuary.  The  doctor's  simplicity  consists  in  making 
every  one  perfectly  understand  him,  so  that  spurious 
critics  will  never  be  found  measuring  his  depth  by 
his  darkness.  He  is  not  found  dealing  in  words 
of  thundering  sound  and  learned  length,  but  is 
peculiarly  and  chastely  colloquial,  interesting  his 
hearers  as  if  they  were  actually  in  conversation  with 
him,  and  expected  to  take  a  part.  We  have  some- 


430   GENERAL  CONFERENCE  TAKINGS. 

what  against  the  doctor,  however,  as  a  preacher 
While  he  is  wanting  neither  in  matter  nor  manner,  we 
think  we  have  often  heard  him  make  a  point,  where 
a  little  additional  intensification  would  seemingly 
have  rendered  the  effect  irresistible.  He  seems  at 
times  to  check  his  thunder  mid  volley,  when  one 
pants  to  see  its  whole  force  expended  upon  the 
audience.  We  know  not  but  what  just  here  the 
doctor's  exquisite  taste  chills  the  fire  of  his  oratory. 

The  doctor  is  an  Englishman,  of  highly,  respectable 
parentage,  and  was  born  at  Portsea,  in  1810,  making 
him  as  yet  but  in  the  prime  and  vigor  of  life.  His 
mother  was  a  member  of  the  Established  Church, 
and  his  father  a  Dissenter,  but  both,  subsequently, 
became  communicants  in  the  Baptist  Church.  In 
1818,  they  emigrated,  with  young  Edward,  to 
America,  by  way  of  Havre  de  Grace,  France, 
arriving  in  New- York  after  a  protracted  and  most 
perilous  voyage,  in  the  good  ship  Alexandria,  having 
been  overhauled  by  pirates  in  its  course.  A  princi- 
pal object  of  the  emigration  was  to  improve  the 
fortunes  of  the  family,  impaired  by  the  too  great 
generosity  of  its  head.  An  aspiration  after  that 
higher  civil  liberty  and  purer  form  of  Protestantism, 
had  much  to  do,  also,  in  determining  the  choice 
between  the  two  shores.  The  emigrants,  however,  as 
often  happens,  were  ill  prepared  to  take  advantage 
of  those  circumstances  in  the  New  World  so  favorable 


BEV.    EDWARD   THOMSON.  431 

to  the  acquisition  of  wealth.  After  spending  much 
time  in  prospecting,  first  in  New- York,  then  in 
Philadelphia,  and  again  in  Pittsburgh,  the  father 
of  Dr.  Thomson  finally  settled  with  his  family 
in  Wooster,  Ohio,  in  the  spring  of  1819.  Here  Mr. 
Thomson  fitted  up  a  comfortable  house,  entered  a 
living,  if  not  lucrative  business,  and  spent  the  rest 
of  his  life  in  tranquillity  and  devotion,  deriving  his 
chief  pleasure  from  his  study,  garden,  and  family. 
The  father  of  the  subject  of  this  sketch  was  reniark- 
able  for  the  agreeableness  of  his  manners,  exuberant 
kindness,  and  retiring  and  unambitious  habits.  He 
possessed  a  fine  taste,  a  large  acquaintance  with 
books,  a  grateful  heart,  and  a  cheerful  and  social 
disposition.  He  died  in  the  hope  of  the  Gospel, 
in  the  fall  of  1844,  leaving  a  widow  now  living  in 
Illinois,  and  a  large  family,  the  members  of  which 
are  scattered  in  different  parts  of  the  continent. 
Under  parental  auspices,  the  subject  of  this  sketch 
received  a  good  common-school  and  academical 
education,  and  would  have  received  a  collegiate 
training,  had  there  been  a  college  accessible  to  him 
in  his  Western  home. 

At  an  early  age  he  commenced  the  study  of  medi- 
cine, which  he  completed  after  attending  his  first 
course  of  lectures  at  Philadelphia,  and  his  second  at 
Cincinnati,  receiving  the  degree  of  M.D.  with  ecl&t. 
While  yet  a  youth,  he  was  distinguished  by  his  fond- 


432        GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

ness  for  reading  and  solitude,  and  early  became  a 
subject  of  converting  grace.  Failing,  however,  to 
make  the  reception  of  this  latter  blessing  known,  he 
measurably  lost  his  spirituality.  Reasoning  himself 
into  fatalism  from  the  Calvinistic  creed,  which  he 
was  early  taught,  and  meeting  with  some  skeptical 
books  while  a  medical  student,  he  became  quite 
skeptical.  He  always,  however,  treated  religion  and 
its  advocates  with  courtesy,  and  never  wandered 
from  the  paths  of  morality.  He  was  brought  again 
to  the  themes  of  grace  by  repeated  attacks  of  severe 
illness,  while  the  prayerful  reading  of  the  Epistle  of 
St.  James  fully  corrected  his  theological  views.  The 
grace  of  God  was  reapplied  to  his  heart,  and  the 
Spirit  that  called  him  to  repentance,  called  him  also 
to  preach  the  Gospel.  Abandoning  his  profession, 
he  entered  the  Ohio  Conference,  and  was  appoint- 
ed successively  to  Norwalk,  Sandusky,  Cincinnati, 
"Wooster,  and  Detroit  He  was  then  appointed  prin- 
cipal of  Norwalk  Seminary,  a  post  which  he  occu- 
pied for  six  years.  During  this  time  he  declined  a 
professorship  in  Transylvania  University,  Kentucky, 
and  accepted  the  chair  of  philosophy  of  the  human 
mind,  in  the  University  of  Michigan.  He,  however, 
never  entered  upon  his  duties  there,  as  at  the  time 
he  expected  to  do  so  he  was  elected  editor  of  the 
Ladies'  Repository.  He  has  been  nominally  Presi- 
dent of  the  Ohio  "Wesleyan  University  ever  since  it 


REV.    EDWARD    THOMSON.  433 

was  organized,  although  he  has  acted  as  president 
but  for  the  eleven  years  last  past.  He  did  not  desire 
to  leave  the  editorship  of  the  Repository  for  his  pres- 
ent post,  and  was  only  induced  to  do  so  by  the  urgent 
request  of  the  Ohio  and  North  Ohio  Conferences,  the 
patrons  of  the  university.  He  has  filled  every  grade 
of  office  except  that  of  bishop,  filling  at  times  two  or 
three  at  the  same  time,  and  has  been  a  member  of 
every  General  Conference,  we  believe,  since  1840. 
Besides  writing  largely  for  the  periodical  press,  on 
subjects  political,  religious,  and  scientific,  he  has  al- 
ways been  a  close  student,  pursuing  a  regular  course 
marked  out  for  himself.  Since  taking  charge  of  the 
university,  over  which  he  presides  with  an  accepta- 
bility that  will  not  listen  to  a  suggestion  for  a  substi- 
tute, he  has  given  close  attention  to  the  classics  as 
well  as  theology.  His  health  undoubtedly  has  been 
not  a  little  impaired  by  too  close  application.  He 
belongs  to  the  progressive  school,  ecclesiastically  and 
politically ;  is  an  ardent  advocate  for  the  Maine-law 
reform,  general  education,  and  universal  emancipa- 
tion. For  these  reforms  he  has  always  been  ready  to 
lift  his  voice,  though  to  do  so  was  to  encounter  oppo- 
sition and  opprobrium.  Naturally  timid  and  averse 
to  strife,  his  agency  is  not  always  the  most  ostensible, 
even  when  it  is  the  most  effectual ;  he  sets  others  in 
motion  when  he  seems  not  to  move  himself.  Desir- 
ous of  preserving  what  is  valuable  in  existing  institu- 


434      GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

tions,  and  disposed  to  take  favorable  views  of  things, 
his  progressive  movements  are  regulated  with  moder- 
ation, and  his  denunciations  attempered  with  charity. 
His  anti-slavery  speech  before  the  last  General  Con- 
ference will  not  soon  be  forgotten,  while  the  strong- 
hold which  it  had  upon  the  respect  of  the  body,  was 
indicated  in  the  speech  of  Rev.  J.  A.  Collins,  of  Bal- 
timore, who,  in  alluding  to  some  complimentary  allu- 
sions made  to  himself  by  Dr.  Thomson,  declared  that 
he  regarded  a  compliment  from  that  source  as  confer- 
ring upon  him  one  of  the  proudest  hours  of  his  exist- 
ence. The  doctor  has  been  talked  of  for  bishop,  and 
would  make  an  excellent  one.  Ephemeral-lived  as 
the  writer  of  this  sketch  seems  doomed  to  be,  we 
shall  never  live  to  see  him  installed  into  that  sublime 
office.  But  two  hundred  of  our  brethren  here  pres- 
ent may,  and  we  hope  will,  live  to  witness  that 
event.  At  this  moment  the  doctor,  with  that  peculiar 
sparkle  of  his  eye,  and  slight  pucker  of  his  classical 
mouth,  which  indicates  some  sudden  solicitude,  is 
just  rising  to  leave  the  conference  room,  in  company 
with  some  friend,  and  we  will  leave  it  and  him  too. 


REV.    DANIEL    WISE.  485 


REV.   DANIEL   WISE,  D.D. 

THIS  brother,  the  versatile  and  popular  editor  of 
Zion's  Her  did  and  Journal,  is  also  here  as  a 
delegate.  He  is  a  man  of  medium  size,  a  wiry, 
lithe,  and  agile  build.  His  features  tend  to  sharp- 
ness, but  have  gone  none  too  far  in  that  direction. 
Amiableness  and  sweetness  of  temper,  with  great 
urbanity  of  manners,  are  the  language  of  his  phiz. 
Let  no  one  presume,  however,  too  long  upon  his 
forbearance,  when  truth  and  Methodism  are  made 
the  object  of  attack.  Though  gentle  as  a  lamb,  he 
is  as  bold  as  a  lion.  And  though  his  writings  in 
general  are  smooth  as  oil,  yet,  when  the  occasion 
demands,  he  can  apply  -as  many  vials  of  sulphuric 
acid  to  spurious  coin  as  any  writer  in  the  Church. 
He  can,  also,  write  more  (he  has  our  fault,  and 
writes  too  much)  than  most  writers  that  we  ever 
knew.  But  in  writing  for  different  classes  of  per- 
sons, he  excels.  He  can  write  for  the  philosopher, 
the  peasant,  and  the  little  child.  As  a  writer  for 
children,  perhaps,  he  is  rarely  equaled  in  our 
country.  He  will,  doubtless,  return  to  his  post, 
unless  called  upon  to  fill  one  equally  responsible, 
and  for  which  his  brethren  may  deem  him  as  possess- 
ing special  qualifications. 

28 


436       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 


REV.   RESIN   SAPP, 

OF     THE     MICHIGAN     CONFER-ENCE. 

"  Whate'er  I  may  have  been  doth  rest  between  • 
Heaven  and  myself — I  shall  not  choose  a  mortal 
To  be  my  mediator." 

THIS  brother  answers  to  the  usual  height  of  men, 
stands  almost  perfectly  straight,  is  not  slender,  and 
yet  is  there  no  tendency  to  corpulence.  His  san- 
guine-bilious temperament  will  ever  prevent  the 
latter,  while  it  is  not  sufficiently  ardent  to  make  him 
lean  like  Cassius.  His  skin  is  of  a  sallow  hue,  his 
hair  is  dark,  and  his  eyes  (we  would  just  say,  that 
we  always  forget  the  color  of  men's  eyes)  are  re- 
markable for  their  active  and  somewhat  piercing, 
and  by  no  means  disagreeable  roll  in  their  sockets, 
when  he  is  animated.  His  mouth  is  large,  but  a 
little  too  straight  for  fluency.  His  nose  is  decidedly 
conservative  —  constructed  upon  an  old-fashioned 
model.  It  is  neither  too  large  nor  too  small,  does 
not  turn  up  at  the  nasal  apex,  nor  down,  nor  is  it 
aquiline.  It  is  emphatically  a  commonplace  nose, 
and  so  distinguished  for  nothing  remarkable,  that 
few  persons  would  think  of  noticing  it.  But  as  the 
eye  ascends  up  its  straight  ridge  you  soon  approach 


9  REV.  RESIN  SAPP.  437 

a  territory,  the  conformation  of  which  would  delight 
a  Lavater.  The  brow  of  Brother  S.  is  decidedly 
intellectual,  though,  as  a  whole,  it  is  a  little  wanting 
in  symmetry.  Talent,  but  not  imagination,  the 
actual,  and  not  the  ideal,  are  indicated.  The  subject 
of  this  sketch  is  never  less  at  home  than  when  he 
attempts  to. deal  in  the  abstract,  the  metaphysical,  or 
the  descriptive,  and  yet  he  is  emphatically  at  home 
among  first  principles,  and  can  no  more  construct  a 
sermon  or  an  argument  without  thus  basing  it,  than 
can  a  mariner  pursue  his  voyage  without  the  point- 
ings of  the  compass.  These  first  principles,  however, 
are  studied  by  him  in  the  concrete  rather  than  in  the 
abstract.  He  judges  of  causes  from  their  effects, 
rather  than  of  effects  from  causes.  This  makes  him 
eminently  a  practical  thinker;  one  of  the  men  who 
never  build  castles  in  the  air.  This  trait  will  strike 
any  one  in  a  very  few  minutes'  conversation  with 
him.  In  conversation  he  excels.  This  rich '  and 
ready  attribute  of  the  thinking  circle  is  possessed  by 
him  to  an  enviable  degree  ;  but  the  form  which  his 
conversation  generally  assumes  amounts  to  this :  he 
is  attempting  to  prove  some  fact,  by  bringing  forth 
an  array  of  corroborating  facts.  This  trait  of  our 
brother's  mind  makes  him  less  at  home  in  mere 
theory,  and  as  facts  are  stubborn  things,  and  make 
the  positive  man,  Brother  S.,  in  mere  matters  of 
theory  and  speculation,  is  apt,  as  is  thought  by  some 


438       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

of  his  friends,  to  be  too  positive  at  times.  His  defer* 
ence  for  authority  is,  certainly,  not  excessive ;  hence 
has  he,  occasionally,  incurred  the  title  of  ultraist ;  a 
title,  by  the  way,  of  very  indefinite  application,  and 
often  meaning  no  more  than  this :  the  man  does  not 
agree  with  me  in  opinion,  and,  therefore,  must  be 
wrong.  There  is  a  sense,  however,  in  which  the  title 
but  confers  honor.  It  is  when,  in  the  process  of  the 
advancement  of  society,  reformers  are  found  making 
a  new  application  of  old  and  immutable  principles  to 
society's  long-tolerated  vices.  In  this  sense,  Brother 
S.  is  emphatically ' an  "ultraist." 

As  a  preacher,  Brother  S.  rises  considerably  above 
the  usual  compliment,  "he  is  a  good  preacher." 
And  yet  he  is  difficult  to  classify ;  in  fact,  he  is  some- 
what sui  generis.  His  sermons  contrast  very  greatly 
at  different  times,  and  at  times  may  be  pronounced 
able.  But  he  seldom  meets  in  the  pulpit  that  expect- 
ation' which  his  conversation  will  raise  out  of  it.  We 
attribute  much  of  this  to  a  bad  manner  of  delivery, 
into  which  he  seems  to  have  fallen  in  early  life,  and 
to  have  neglected  the  correction  of  (a  sadly-solemn 
common  fault)  in  later  years.  A  good  manner  will 
always  aid  one  to  get  out  good  matter.  No  man  can 
do  justice  to  his  mind,  as  a  public  speaker,  whose 
manner  is  decidedly  defective.  But,  with  these  facts 
before  us,  Brother  Sapp  may  be  classed,  averaging 
his  pulpit  performances,  as  first  among  that  large 


REV.    RESIN    SAPP.  489 

class  of  preachers  in  the  Northwest,  which  constitute 
the  hope  of  the  Church ;  while,  as  a  pastor,  he  is 
always  popular  and  beloved  by  his  people,  and  rarely 
preaches  in  a  church  that  presents  a  beggarly  show 
of  empty  benches.  When  we  have  known  him  on 
stations,  his  congregations  and  influence  have  gen- 
erally increased  to  the  last.  As  a  friend  he  is  gen- 
erous and  frank,  not  fastidiously  fearful  of  giving 
offense,  nor  over  sensitive  in  receiving  it.  He  is  about 
forty  years  of  age,  and  has  been  seventeen  years  in 
the  itinerancy,  all  of  which  have  been  spent  in  the 
Michigan  Conference.  He  availed  himself  of  some 
early  advantages,  and  having  subsequently  been  a 
most  earnest  and  indefatigable  student,  he  may  justly 
lay  claim  to  highly-respectable  scholastic  attainments. 
At  the  age  of  twenty  he  was  a  student  of  law  in 
Ohio,  but,  having  been  converted,  and  obtained 
help  from  God,  he  at  once  felt  it  his  duty  to  lay 
down  Blackstone  for  the  Bible,  to  exchange  Chitty 
for  the  Methodist  Discipline,  and  enter  the  itinerant 
ranljs.  His  conference  has  twice  intrusted  him  with 
the  responsibilties  of  a  delegate  to  the  General  Con- 
ference, and  in  both  cases  he  has  acquitted  himself 
with  marked  acceptability.  At  the  moment  we  are 
sketching  him,  he  has  arisen  in  his  seat,  on  the  west 
side  of  the  assembly-room,  with  a  small  slip  of  paper 
in  his  hand,  on  which,  even  at  this  distance,  we  can 
detect  his  unique  chirography,  the  letters  of  which 


440      GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

lean  back  when  they  ought  to  lean  forward,  while, 
with  a  pencil  in  the  other  hand,  in  which  he  is 
incessantly  tapping  his  notes,  he  proceeds  to  ask 
Brother  Slicer,  of  Baltimore,  who  has  the  floor,  a  trio 
of  questions,  which,  as  it  respects  the  position  taken 
by  that  old  and  ingenious  polemic,  rather  leave  him 
hors  de  comhat.  Brother  Slicer,  however,  sets  all 
aside  by  one  of  his  ingenious  sallies  of  wit,  and 
passes  on.  Brother  Sapp  sits  down,  and  feels,  as  do 
his  friends,  that  the  argument  implied  in  his  interro- 
gations still  stands. 


REV.   LUKE   HITCHCOCK, 

OP    THE    ROCK    RIVER    CONFERENCE. 

ROCHEFOTJCATJI/T  once  said,  "  Of  all  objects  of 
thought,  one  of  the  most  pleasant  is  to  meditate 
upon  a  true  man."  Inspiration  says,  "  Mark  the 
perfect  man,  and  behold  the  upright."  With  the 
subject  of  this  sketch,  personally,  our  acquaintance, 
to  the  diminution  of  our  pleasure,  has  been  very 
brief.  We  must  sketch  him  running;  in  other  words, 
say  what  we  have  to  say  of  him,  from  that  "grand 
total"  which  is  the  sum  of  what  we  have  always 
heard  of  him.  We  shall  not,  however,  chalk  in  the 


REV.    LUKE    HITCHCOCK. 

dark.  "What  we  say,  we  feel  and  know  to  be  true. 
In  person,  he  is  slender ;  and  constitutionally,  some- 
what frail.  The  color  of  his  skin  would  indicate 
some  severe  but  successful  battles  with  inceptive 
chronic  disease.  His  health,  though  perfect  now, 
seems  not  always  to  have  been  a  boon  which  he  has 
enjoyed.  It  is  new  and  morning-like,  rather  than 
the  noon  of  vigor.  With  due  attention  to  the  laws 
of  hygiene,  lessons  in  which,  probably,  he  has  been 
prompted  to  take  by  necessity,  he  may  live  to  old 
age,  and  be  amdMg  the  Church's  most  active  workers. 
From  disposition,  while  health  permitted,  he  could 
not  do  otherwise.  His  phiz  does  not  do  justice  to 
his  mind.  He  is,  evidently,  a  good-looking  man,  and 
does  not  impress  you  with  any  marked  mental  char- 
acteristic, unless  it  be  that  of  great  modesty.  He  is 
one  of  the  few  men  who  seem  sufficiently  always  to 
feel  the  force  of  the  apostolic  injunction,  "  In  honor 
.  preferring  one  another."  We  should  think  that  dif- 
fidence had  been  the  only  ghost  that  ever  haunted 
hinij  and  that  the  people  have  often  lost  a  good  ser- 
mon, because  he  has  been  afraid  of  some  brother  in 
the  audience,  whose  efforts  would  compare  with  his 
to  his  own  great  disadvantage.  His  modesty,  how- 
ever, never  shakes  his  firmness.  When  he  is  sure  he 
is  right,  he  goes  ahead.  Amiability,  the  handmaid 
of  modesty,  constitutes  his  prominent  social  quality. 
To  see  him  and  converse  with  him,  is  to  wish  to  do 


442   GENERAL  CONFERENCE  TAKINGS. 

so  again,  and  if  good  manners  consist  in  the  art  of 
pleasing,  he  is,  emphatically,  an  agreeable  gentleman. 
.As  a  Church  officer  he  excels  in  the  financial  and  ad- 
ministrative. As  a  presiding  elder,  he  magnifies  his 
office,  and  were  the  office  always  magnified  with 
such  men,  we  should  hear  much  fewer  calls  for  its 
abolishment  or  modification.  As  a  financier,  he  is 
said  to  stand  first  in  his  conference,  and  to  have  de- 
monstrated his  claims  in  some  trying  positions  and 
agencies  in  which  he  has  been  placed.  As  a  preach- 
er, added  to  a  good  academic  education,  received  in 
one  of  our  most  popular  institutions,  he  gives  evi- 
dence of  an  acute  understanding  of  the  theology  of 
Methodism.  Sound  sense,  great  but  chaste  plainness, 
with  a  spirit  which  seems  to  be  perfectly  self-forget- 
ting, are  the  chief  characteristics  of  his  sermons.  His 
only  object  seems  to  be  to  do  the  people  good,  rather 
than  make  them  think  that  he  is  preaching  a  great 
sermon.  Take  him  for  all  in  all,  he  is  a  preacher 
that  everybody  will  always  love  to  hear,  and  may 
always  hear  to  profit.  He  is  about  forty-three  years 
of  age,  and  has  been  twenty-two  years  in  the  minis- 
try. He  belonged  originally  to  the  Oneida  Confer- 
ence, the  members  of  which,  many  of  whom  are  here 
on  the  conference  floor,  highly  prize  his  character 
and  greet  him  with  the  warmest  cordiality.  He 
came  to  Illinois,  health-seeking,  in  1839.  He  imme- 
diately entered  upon  the  duties  of  the  ministry,  and 


EEV.    LUKE    HITCHCOCK.  443 

finding  the  climate  to  agree  with  him,  he  has  re- 
mained in  that  state  of  magnificent  prairies  and  pure 
air  ever  since.  He  has  filled  the  most  prominent  ap- 
pointments of  his  conference,  and  his  present  field  of 
labor  is  Mount  Morris  District.  He  stands  in  the  van 
with  his  brethren,  and  leads  deservedly  his  delega- 
tion at  this  General  Conference,  which  is  the  second 
time  his  brethren  have  honored  him  with  that  high 
ofiice.  He  sits  directly  before  us  at  this  moment, 
with  his  hair  "  tinged  a  little  with  the  iron  gray," 
leaning  forward  upon  his  left  hand,  and  giving,  as  is 
his  wont  when  a  little  excited,  a  nondescript,  nervous 
snap  of  his  eyes.  Some  inquiry,  eminently  practica- 
ble, and  involving  the  interests  of  the  Church,  more 
dear  to  him  than  all  other  interests,  is  evidently 
being  reyolved  in  his  mind.  I  fancy  that  Mr. 
Thought,  whose  given  name  is  utilitarian,  has  just 
approached  his  judgment  with  the  inquiry :  Sir,  it  is 
not  exactly  what  we  ought  to  do,  but  what  can  we 
do  for  the  best  under  the  present  circumstances  ? 


444      GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 


REV.  ¥.  P.  STRICKLAND,  D.D., 

REPORTER. 

"  'Tis  not  in  mortals  to  command  success ; 
But  we'll  do  more,  Sempronius,  we'll  deserve  it." 

DK.  STRICKLAND  was  not  a  member  of  the  General 
Conference,  but  served  that  body  as  reporter  for  the 
Daily  Western  Christian  Advocate.  Services  in  this 
department  have  been  rendered  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent  by  him,  on  public  occasions,  for  the  last  twenty 
years.  He  has  become  an  adept  in  the  art,  and  is 
always  in  demand  when  any  of  this  sort  of  hard  work 
is  to  be  done,  and  well  done.  His  services  at  the 
late  General  Conference  were  of  the  first  moment, 
gave  general  satisfaction,  and  we  hope  were  well 
rewarded  by  something  more  than  the  mere  custom- 
ary vote  of  thanks.  The  arduous  task  that  he  per- 
formed was  not,  perhaps,  at  all  times,  duly  apprecia- 
ted by  the  uninitiated.  But  for  over  a  month,  Brother 
Strickland  toiled  incessantly  for  the  Church,  from 
fifteen  to  eighteen  hours  a  day.  Nor  did  he  once 
complain  of  weariness.  In  fact,  though  not  a  plodder 
as  a  literary  man,  but  rather  inclined  to  work  by 
spasms,  and  as  occasions  demand,  yet  is  there  in  our 


REV.    W.   P.   STRICKLAND.  445 

friend  Strickland  a  penchant  for  hard  work,  and 
where  anything  of  that  sort  is  to  be  done,  which  falls 
within  the  purview  of  the  doctor's  vein,  he  is  sure  to 
be  called  upon  by  his  brethren  to  perform  the  task. 
And  yet  it  will  be  asked,  why  some  of  the  literary 
and  working  posts  of  the  Church  have  not  been  as- 
signed him ;  why  he  has  not  been  made  editor  of 
some  of  our  periodicals,  for  example.  Perhaps  the 
true  answer  to  this  question  isy  the  doctor,  touching 
some  points  of  our  publishing  policy,  has  long  since 
been  considered  somewhat  radical,  while  as  regards 
his  caution,  in  this  case,  it  does  not  assume  a  circular, 
but  a  right-angled  configuration.  In  body,  as  in 
mind,  he  possesses  almost  unequaled  powers  of  endur- 
ance. Tall,  straight,  and  wiry-nerved,  with  all  the 
great  functions  of  life  in  a  healthy  condition,  with  not 
a  superfluous  pound  of  flesh  about  him,  and  with 
dietetfcal  habits  conformed  to  no  laws  of  hygiene,  it 
is  wonderful  how  nature  bears  up  under  the  heavy 
draft  of  toil  laid  upon  it,  and  recovers  her  exhausted 
strength  with  such  a  readiness  and  rapidity  as  are 
exemplified  in  his  case.  The  doctor  eats  very  little, 
and  thus  rests  the  stomach.  As  an  author  and  re- 
porter, he  has  been  more  of  an  editor  and  compiler 
than  an  originator;  hence  the  severer  work  of  the 
brain,  a  work  which  he  is  by  no  means  unable  to 
perform,  has  been  resorted  to  but  comparatively  sel- 
dom. The  stomach  and  brain  seem  never  to  have 


446       GENEKAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

been  on  any  other  than  that  of  friendly  relations,  a 
state  of  things,  in  the  life  of  a  literary  man,  most  rare. 
Though  now  forty-seven  years  of  age,  the  doctor  was 
never  ill  of  any  disease  but  the  ague.  Of  this  dread- 
ed denizen  of  the  "West  he  thinks  he  has  received 
more  than  his  full  share  of  favors.  And,  indeed,  to 
see  him  walk,  one  would  suppose  that  he  has  never 
properly  recovered  from  the  shakings  of  this  giant 
monopolist  of  Western  sickness,  in  so  many  parts. 
Though  lank  and  lean  as  the  writer  of  this  article, 
but  five  times  stronger,  and  straight  as  an  Indian,  yet 
with  head,  or,  perhaps,  his  hat  inverted  toward  the 
right  or  left  shoulder,  for  it  seems  to  be  perfectly 
accidental,  he  has  an  ambling,  shuffling  walk ;  his  long, 
attenuated  extremities,  particularly  the  one  on  the 
left,  is  turned  out  at  the  toes  at  an  angle  of  nearly 
forty-five.  He  never  seems  to  loiter  or  be  in  a  spe- 
cial hurry,  and  least  of  all  does  his  head  hang  down 
as  if  he  had  done  something  to  be  ashamed  of;  nor 
does  he  hold  up  his  head  as  if  putting  on  airs ;  nor  is 
there  any  particular  look  of  abstraction  in  his  coun- 
tenance, as  if  he  could  not  live  in  the  outward  world 
of  common  things,  and  the  inner  world  of  thought 
and  analysis,  at  the  same  time.  His  whole  air  is  that 
of  a  kind  citizen  of  this  world,  who  is  constantly 
trying  and  hoping  to  make  it  better  before  he  goes 
out  of  it.  "With  brow  decidedly  intellectual  and 
countenance  deep-hued  with  benevolence,  a  most  legi- 


REV.    W.   P.   STRICKLAND.  447 

ble  index  of  generous  emotions,  and  we  had  almost 
said  of  reckless  liberality,  with  mouth  as  big  as 
Henry  Clay's,  always  ready  to  part  in  smiles,  every 
one  feels  at  once  the  prepossessing  power  of  Dr. 
Strickland's  presence.  One  at  once  desires  him  for  a 
friend,  and  it  is  easy  to  make  and  keep  him  such, 
while  those  who  incur  his  enmity  are  generally  to  be 
found  wanting  in  that  forbearance  which  is  always 
mutually  necessary  between  friend  and  friend.  His 
disposition,  probably,  is  a  little  too  volatile;  his  con- 
versation, in  the  frankness  of  unrestrained  confidence, 
often  bordering  on  the  light,  though  never  on  the 
trifling.  But  were  he  grave  and  given  to  a  sad  coun- 
tenance, while,  perhaps,  it  would  not  improve  his 
religion,  it  certainly  would,  long  since,  have  ruined 
his  stomach,  and  the  General  Conference  would  not 
have  had  a  reporter  in  Dr.  Strickland,  who  could 
have  written  twelve  hours  a  day  without  languor  or 
fatigue. 

As  a  preacher,  Brother  Strickland  possesses  much 
versatility  of  talent,  and  a  strongly-marked  individu- 
ality. He  is  learned,  logical,  or  eloquent,  or  all  togeth- 
er, seemingly  to  suit  occasions.  His  gestures  are 
graceful,  though  his  voice  is  often  very  badly  man- 
aged. Had  he,  as  perhaps  he  ought  to  have  done, 
concentrated  his  undivided  powers  upon  the  pulpit, 
history  might  have  been  found  repeating  herself,  (she 
has  not  yet  done  so,)  in  returning  to  our  pulpit  a  sec- 


448   GENERAL  CONFERENCE  TAKINGS. 

ond  Strange  in  Strickland.  As  an  author,  Dr.  Strick- 
land has  become  quite  voluminous,  if  he  has  not 
famous.  We  remember  the  following  volumes  as  the 
product  of  his  pen,  which  have  appeared,  we  believe, 
somewhat  in  the  order  in  which  we  here  name  them: 
History  of  the  American  Bible  Society;  History  of 
Methodist  Missions ;  Biblical  Literature  ;  Christianity 
Demonstrated ;  Genius  and  Mission  of  Methodism ; 
Light  of  the  Temple ;  Astrologer  of  Chaldea ;  and 
Pioneers  of  the  West.  Besides  these,  he  has  just 
edited  and  issued,  Arthur  in  America,  and  has  here- 
tofore edited  for  different  persons  several  very  popu- 
lar works,  among  which  may  be  named,  Finley's,  or 
the  "  Old  Chiefs."  Finley's  Autobiography,  in  our 
estimation,  is  Dr.  Strickland's  masterpiece  in  au- 
thorship. 

Brother  Strickland  was  born  in  the  West ;  born  in 
the  "Iron  City,"  Pittsburgh,  and  raised  and  educated 
a  Buckeye.  Owing  to  the  failure  of  his  father  in 
business,  he  was  thrown  poor  upon  the  world,  and 
was  compelled  to  make  his  way  in  it  without  any 
further  help  from  parents  than  their  pious  advice  and 
prayers,  and  has  never  had  a  tender  of  help  from  any 
other  source  until  it  was  too  late  to  be  needed.  He 
entered  Athens,  the  seat  of  the  Ohio  University,  on 
foot,  and  almost  barefoot  at  that ;  and  by  the  most 
rigid  self-denial  and  economy,  succeeded  in  obtaining 
an  education.  Realizing  that  -God  had  called  him  to 


REV.    W.    P.    STRICKLAND.  449 

the  work  of  the  ministry,  while  his  fellow-chums  were 
playing  on  the  green,  he  busied  himself  reading  the 
Bible  in  his  room,  or,  perhaps,  praying  in  secret  ill 
the  college  cupola.  He  ultimately  obtained  from  this, 
his  alma  mater,  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity. 

He  entered  the  traveling  connection  in  Ohio,  in 
1.832,  and  traveled  his  first  circuit  as  a  colleague  of 
L.  L.  (now  ex-bishop)  Hamline.  In  addition  to  cir- 
cuits which  he  traveled,  he  was  stationed  ten  years, 
was  agent  of  the  American  Bible  Society  five  years, 
for  the  past  year  and  a  half  has  served  as  colonization 
agent,  and  has  recently  been  transferred  to  the  New- 
York  Conference.  While  preparing  this  meager 
sketch,  he  sits  before  us  doubled  over  the  reporter's 
table,  something  like  the  shutting  up  of  a  twelve-inch 
rule  which  is  all  of  a  size,  and  is  making  to  us  unin- 
telligible characters  upon  paper  nearly  as  fast  as  rain 
drops  would  fall  upon  it  in  a  shower.  At  this  mo- 
ment he  has  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  us,  as  if  in  sus- 
picion for  the  obtrusive,  scrutinizing  stare  we  have 
once  more  given  our  old  friend.  We  pocket  our  pen- 
cil, and  retire. 


460      GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 


REV.  JACOB   G.  DIMMITT, 

OF    THE    IOWA    CONFERENCE. 

THE  class  of  temperament  and  social  character  to 
which  the  subject  of  this  sketch  belongs,  was  repre- 
sented in  the  Apostle  John.  The  prominent  language 
of  his  countenance  is  that  of  benevolence ;  and  the 
particular  relations  of  his  nose  and  forehead,  the 
spirit  thus  indicated  physiognomically,  would  have 
thrown  the  usually  composed  Howard  into  a  paroxysm 
of  delight.  We  will  venture  to  say  that  Brother  Dim- 
mitt's  enemies  have  always  been  so  few,  that  it  would 
have  been  a  kind  of  North  Pole  exploring  expedition 
to  find  one,  at  least  an  inveterate  one.  His  brow 
recedes  from  the  radix  •  of  his  nose,  which  is  long ; 
and  hair  scarce  upon  the  apex  of  his  forehead,  where 
more  hair  ought  to  be.  His  eyebrows  are  heavy  and 
intellectual,  mouth  large,  and  chin  and  corporeal 
proportions  obeying  the  same  general  law  of  projec- 
tion that  marks  his  whole  physical  contour.  He  is 
stout  built ;  and  when  a  boy,  if  told  to  walk  light  by 
throwing  himself  forward  upon  his  toes,  we  think  there 
can  be  but  little  doubt  that  he  failed  to  execute  the 
maneuver  to  perfection.  The  center  of  his  perpen- 
dicular is  certainly  as  far  back  as  his  heels ;  and  he 
has  a  straight,  strong  "  backbone,"  both  literally  and 


EEV.   J.    G.    DIMMITT.  451 

figuratively.  His  kindness  would  not  betray  his 
firmness  in  a  matter  of  right ;  it  would,  however,  and 
doubtless  often  has,  in  a  mere  matter  of  benevolence. 
We  should  expect  to  find  him  discommoding  himself 
to  accommodate  others,  occasionally,  even  to  a  fault. 
He  is  modest,  almost  to  sensitiveness,  and  yet  the 
proper  appreciation  by  his  friends  of  felt  merit  by  no 
means  fails  to  give  him  pleasure.  We  should  be  sorry 
if  it  did.  For  not  so  far  to  respect  human  nature  an 
to  ordinately  gratulate  in  its  approval,  is  the  very 
point  where  modesty  degenerates  into  affectation,  the 
lowest  form  of  egotism. 

Brother  D.  was  a  member  of  the  General  Con- 
ference at  Boston,  four  years  ago.  He  is  wise  in 
counsel,  reliable,  and  industrious,  though  we  believe 
he  does  not  make  many  speeches.  This  he  could 
do,  however,  as  well  as  the  best,  were  he  not  a  lit- 
tle too  hard  proof  against  the  contagion  of  speech- 
making.  In  argument  he  is  said  to  be  somewhat 
original,  and  to  indicate  some  marked  individu- 
alisms.  His  education,  though  limited  for  the  want 
of  early  opportunities,  like  a  frugal  merchant  who 
operates  most  successfully  on  a  small  capital,  he  makes 
to  go  a  great  way.  In  addition  to  a  respectable  En- 
glish education,  he  has  slightly  pushed  his  studies  into 
the  classics,  and  can  do  something  respectable  in  the 
way  of  reading  the  New  Testament  in  its  vernacular. 

His  age  is  about  fifty ;  and  being  blessed  with  a  pray- 

29 


452      GENERAL    CONFEEENCE    TAKINGS. 

ing  mother,  he  was  also  'blessed  with  an  early  con- 
version. He  entered  the  itinerancy,  in  the  Ohio 
Conference,  in  1839,  arid  was  transferred  to  the  great 
"West  in  1850.  He  received  his  first  appointment  in 
the  Iowa  Conference,  of  which  he  is  a  member,  to  the 
Centenary  Church,  in  the  city  of  Dubuque,  and  is 
now  presiding  elder  on  the  district  of  that  name.  He 
writes  occasionally  for  our  Church  periodicals,  and 
has  delivered  sundry  sermons,  speeches,  and  addresses, 
the  publication  of  which  has  been  called  for  by  those 
who  heard  them.  As  a  preacher,  he  is  both  popular 
and  useful,  and  the  surface  elements  in  his  popularity, 
that  enter  largely  into  his  sermons,  consist  in  a  good 
style,  a  pleasant- voice,  and  a  winning  spirit.  Intrin- 
sically, his  sermons  are  occasionally  somewhat  declam- 
atory, but  this  is  rather  the  exception  than  the  rule. 
He  generally  takes  hold  of  some  great  pillars  of 
thought  in  the  temple  of  truth,  so  that  the  people 
feel  that  they  have  no  less  a  mental  feast  than  a  feast 
of  feeling.  Ignorant  at  this  moment  of  the  thoughts 
we  are  perpetrating  upon  him,  and  as  it  is  a  moment- 
ary stormy  period  in  the  Conference,  some  half  a 
dozen  trying  to  get  the  floor  at  once,  he  is  looking 
directly  at  the  little  hammer  in  the  hands  of  the 
bishop,  seeming  to  wish  that  it  might  fall  down  with 
greater  momentum,  and  glancing  alternately  to  the 
right  and  the  left,  and,  we  doubt  not,  conning  the  text, 
"  Brethren,  let  your  moderation  be  known  to  all  men." 


EEV.    J.    L.    THOMPSON.  458 


REV.  J.  L.  THOMPSON, 

OF    THE    NORTHWESTERN    INDIANA    CONFERENCE. 

"  The  king  is  great  upon  his  throne, 

The  canon  in  his  stall ; 
But  a  right,  good  man, 

Is  greater  than  they  all." 

THIS  venerable  brother  has  been  a  sexagenarian 
for  five  years,  "  and  yet  his  eye  is  scarcely  dimmed, 
or  his  natural  force  abated."  He  wears  not  that 
bright  grayness  of  age  always  the  result  of  the  turbu- 
lence of  the  workings  of  the  more  inferior  and  secu- 
lar passions  of  the  mind,  but  his  locks  are  of  somber 
whiteness,  resembling  the  mistletoe,  the  "beard  of 
the  cypress,"  reminding  one  of  the  long  past,  and  in- 
spiring solemn  feelings  of  reverence,  and  of  the  near- 
ness of  the  more  solemn  future.  He  is  fleshy,  but 
can  scarcely  be  called  corpulent,  as  his  entire  build, 
by  the  law  of  symmetry,  calls  for  the  physical  pro- 
portions developed.  While  he  bears  the  marks  of 
time,  and  long  and  sturdy  conflict  in  the  battle  of 
life,  he  does  not  of  disease.  We  should  think  that  a 
large  measure  of  good  health  had  fallen  to  his  lot. 
This  was  necessary  in  view  of  the  labor  he  had  to 
perform,  and  the  trials  he  was  destined  to  endure. 
An  air  of  cheerfulness  and  equanimity  of  tempera 


454   GENERAL  CONFERENCE  TAKINGS. 

ment  hang  on  his  face,  like  lingering  sunbeams  of 
evening  in  the  top  of  the  great  oak,  while  the  shad- 
ows of  night  are  gathering  around  him.  He  is  not  at 
all  given  to  rapture  or  ecstasies,  which  are  sweet  but 
evanescent,  so  much  as  he  is  to  habitual  patience  and 
joy.  He  sternly  eschews  fretfulness  and  desponden- 
cy, but  reflects  bitterly,  and,  as  we  think,  justly,  upon 
some  of  the  mistakes  of  his  protracted  itinerant  life. 
Though  in  the  course  of  nature  he  and  his  aged  com- 
panion must  soon  be  in  a  condition  of  dependence, 
yet  has  he  failed,  under  the  teachings  of  a  false  zeal> 
and  for  fear  of  secularizing  his  holy  calling,  to  makt/ 
the  least  provision  for  that  day  of  stern  necessity 
We  hope  and  believe  that  Brother  Thompson  will 
never  be  suffered  to  want,  and  yet,  when  he  ex- 
pressed to  us  his  decided  disapprobation  of  his  course 
in  this  respect,  we  could  but  sympathize  with  his 
views. 

As  a  preacher,  he  belongs  to  the  solid  men  of 
Zion,  rather  than  the  showy.  Strong  sense,  practical 
views,  stanchly  nailed  with  the  Scriptures,  accompa- 
nied with  an  emphatic  unction  that  at  times  assumes 
the  parentally  persuasive,  when  it  is  touchingly  im- 
pressive, are  the  characteristics  of  his  sermons.  To 
literature,  in  a  belles-lettres  or  classical  sense,  we  be- 
lieve he  makes  no  pretensions,  but  to  highly  respect- 
able attainments  in  theological  reading,  Biblical  exe- 
gesis, and  general  intelligence,  he  might  justly  put 


REV.    J.    L.    THOMPSON.  455 

in  high  claims.  A  native  of  frontier  Kentucky,  a 
spiritual  child  of  a  mother's  prayers,  he  was  early, 
like  Samuel,  called  to  the  work  of  God,  and,  after  re- 
sisting this  call  for  a  number  of  years,  from  a  sense 
of  incompetency,  he,  with  the  wife  of  his  youth, 
sought  the  wilds  of  Indiana  to  labor  in  the  itinerant 
field.  This  he  did  not  do  without  a  struggle  with 
the  heart's  finest  feelings,  and  making  what  to  many 
would  be  a  tempting  sacrifice.  His  father-in-law 

was  bitterly  opposed  to  the  great  purpose  of  his  life, 

• 

and  tempted  him  to  abandon  it  by  offering  to  donate 
him  a  fine  farm,  negroes  not  excepted.  Said  Brother 
Thompson :  "  As  to  the  farm,  it  is  a  fine  present,  and  I 
should  like  to  have  it  and  retain  it,  but  cannot  bribe 
my  conscience  with  any  such  price  ;  and  as  to  the 
negroes,  I  would  accept  them  only  for  purposes  of 
emancipation."  Brother  Thompson  was  one  of  those 
stanch  anti-slavery  men  who,  a  quarter  of  a  century 
ago,  could  .be  found  among  Methodist  preachers  in, 
as  well  as  out  of,  slave  territory.  He  has  not  depart- 
ed a  whit  from  the  faith,  but  belongs  to  the  progress- 
ives on  that  subject,  of  this  General  Conference,  by 
every  vote,  word,  act,  and  animus  which  he  is  capa- 
ble of  manifesting.  Arriving  in  Indiana,  he  com- 
menced at  once  a  circuit  work,  and  without  enumer- 
ating the  many  circuits  and  stations  on  which  he  has 
laborefl,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  he  has  left  the 
fragrance  of  his  pastoral  faithfulness,  some  mark  of 


456       GENERAL   CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

his  presence,  and  fond  reminiscences  of  his  memory, 
over  the  entire  southern  and  central  part  of  that  great 
state.  His  name  has  been  woven  in  the  history  of 
Methodism  in  the  State  of  Indiana.  Meeting  with  a 
failure  of  his  health,  after  many  years  of  itinerant 
labor,  he  concluded  to  follow  further  the  westward 
march  of  our  frontier  civilization,  and  sought  in  the 
then  sparsely-settled  regions  of  Iowa  a  change  of 
climate  for  sanitary  purposes.  Passing  ten  years  in 
that  territory,  afterward  state,  in  many  of.  which  he 
was  in  labors,  and  even  perils,  abundant,  he  was 
favored  with  a  complete  recovery  of  his  health.  It 
was  then  that  his  heart  yearned  again  for  his  Hoosier 
home,  and  he  returned  to  Indiana,  where  he  is  now  a 
leading  member  of  the  Northwestern  Indiana  Confer- 
ence, which  has  appropriately  honored  him  with  a 
seat  on  this  floor ;  the  second  time,  we  believe,  the 
Church  has  conferred  upon  him  this  honor.  Licensed 
to  preach  by  Rev.  Peter  Cartwright,  Brother  Thomp- 
son might  vie  with  him  in  perils  upon  the  prairies ; 
in  perils  among  robbers,  when  lost  in  the  woods ;  in 
perils  from  winter's  cold  and  summer's  heat,  with  ex- 
ceedingly scanty  supplies.  Hominy,  parched  corn, 
jerked  venison,  and  bear  bacon,  have  all  been  famil- 
iar dishes  to  Brother  Thompson;  and  even  when- 
these  were  the  only  dishes,  they  were  not  always  as 
familiar  as  an  appetite  made  keen  from  long  Fasting 
could  have  desired  them  to  have  been.  The  march 


REV.    J.    L.    THOMPSON.  457 

westward  of  a  rude  civilization,  under  the  reign  and 
auspices  of  the  "  ax,  the  rifle,  and  the  saddle-bags," 
with  Methodism  leading  a  camp,  log-cabin,  and  camp- 
meeting  life  alongside  of  it,  to  imbue  it  with  the  holy 
leaven  of  heaven,  have  been  witnessed  by  Brother 
Thompson  for  half  a  century.  In  fact,  he  has  been  a 
part  of  the  social  condition  of  the  "West. 

For  steady,  unenthusiastic,  and  yet  indomitable 
energy,  Brother  Thompson  has  few  equals.  In  kind- 
ness of  disposition,  in  truthfulness  to  the  great  laws 
of  friendship,  in  candor  and  simplicity,  in  manly,  un- 
affected, and  unobtrusive  etiquette,  he  has  no  superi- 
ors. In  one  respect,  he  is  a  model  of  an  old  man, 
and  an  old  Methodist  preacher.  He  is  free  from 
what  is  technically  understood  by  the  term  "  fogy- 
ism."  He  is  not  always  minding  those  about  him 
that  his  head  is  white,  and  of  the  many  years  of  long 
service  which  he  has  bestowed  upon  the  Church. 
He  attaches  no  merit  to  age,  for  its  sake  alone,  and 
is  never  found  acting  the  Japanese,  who  attempts  to 
command  respect  and  recommend  his  virtues  by  the 
length  of  'his  beard.  May  he  live  half  as  long  as  he 
has,  and  should  Providence  duplicate  the  time  in  our 
wish,  we  are  quite  certain  he  will  never  be  loved 
less,  and  his  friends,  as  they  always  have,  will  ever 
be  on  the  increase,  while  his  enemies  will  continue 
what  they  are,  an  extinct  race 

Our  venerable  friend   must  pardon   this  meager 


458       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

effusion  of  respect,  and  still  more  meager  sketch. 
"We  write  amid  the  exciting  scenes  of  the  General 
Conference  room,  and  have  been  induced  to  do  so 
by  the  sight  of  Brother  Thompson,  now  before  us, 
who  sits  leaning,  patriarch-like,  thoughtfully  forward 
upon  his  staff,  and  whose  presence  reminds  us  of  the 
time  when  we  sat  spell-bound  under  his  ministry, 
though  full  of  the  thoughtlessness  and  exuberant 
restlessness  of  childhood.  Time's  hand  has  touched 
us  both,  and  changed  our  persons,  circumstances,  and 
relations. 


REV.  B.  E.  CRARY,  A.M., 

OP   THE    INDIANA    CONFERENCE. 

.  "  Perseverance  is  a  Roman  virttte, 

That  wins  each  god-like  act,  and  plucks  success 
E'en  from  the  spear-proof  crest  of  rugged  danger." 

BROTHER  CRART  is  a  marked  man,  and  has  already 
made  his  mark.  His  career,  like  that  of  self-made 
men  generally,  is  of  itself  remarkable.  Born  in  an 
obscure  part  of  Indiana,  of  respectable  though  poor 
parentage,  he  has  worked  himself  up  to  his  present 
position,  by  that  indomitable  perseverance  which 
always  characterizes  a  man  of  energy.  The  facilities 
of  education  being  small,  he  availed  himself  of  the 


REV.    B.    F.    CRARY.  459 

best  in  his  power,  until  he  became  proficient,  not 
only  in  tbe  elementary  branches,  of  absolute  neces- 
sity to  all,  but  succeeded  in  making  proficiency  in  the 
classics  and  French  language.  His  success  in  self- 
education  is  attested  by  the  judgment  of  the  Indiana 
Asbury  University,  of  which  he  is  trustee,  in  confer- 
ring upon  him  the  title  which  his  name  so  worthily 
bears.  When  called  to  preach,  he  reluctantly  yield- 
ed, and  was  urged  into  the  work  by  the  solicitude  of 
his  brethren.  His  heart  was  upon  another  profession, 
the  study  of  the  law,  in  which  he  had  made  pro- 
ficiency, and  commenced  business.  He  became  a 
member  of  the  Indiana  Conference  in  1845,  in  those 
days  when  those  giants  of  power  flourished  within  its 
bounds,  Simpson,  Ames,  Berry,  the  Woods,  James, 
Havens,  Cooper,  and  others.  As  a  preacher,  he  oc- 
cupies a  high  position  among  his  brethren.  He  is 
logical,  pungent,  positive,  earnest.  He  never  preach- 
es a  sermon  that  indicates  any  of  that  theological  su- 
perficiality, often  less  the  result  of  natural  ability, 
than  the  want  of  early  mental  discipline.  Like 
Shakspea/e's  tide,  which  must  be  taken  at  its  flood 
to  lead  on  to  fortune,  there  is  a  period  in  most  men's 
lives,  in  which,  if  a  little  hard  study  be  not  done, 
there  can  be  no  substitute  for  it  ever  after. 

He  is  yet  but  thirty-four  years  of  age,  and  may  be 
considered,  therefore,  in  the  morning  of  life ;  and  if 
there  be  any  weakness  incorporated  in  his  energy, 


460       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

it  is  the  usual  weakness  of  impulsive  minds,  impa- 
tient of  success.  He  has  moved,  as  yet,  within  a 
narrow,  though  important  circle.  After  filling  the 
principal  stations  in  central  Indiana,  he  served  one 
year  on  the  Bloomington  District,  which  he  left  for 
Indianapolis  District,  which  district  he  still  occupies, 
and  from  which  he  was  elected  member  of  the  late 
General  Conference,  leading  his  delegation.  For  so 
young  a  man,  he  did  himself  enviable  credit  by  his 
services  in  that  body.  His  speech  on  the  slavery 
question  was  made  under  circumstances  very  unfa- 
vorable, though  it  was  well  received,  the  anti-slavery 
cause  ably  supported,  and  Brother  Crary  lost  nothing 
in  reputation  as  an  able  polemic.  Crary's  name  is 
somewhat  widely  circulated  as  a  correspondent  of  the 
Western  Christian  Advocate,  and  now  and  then  of 
the  Northwestern  Christian  Advocate.  His  letters 
are  strongly  marked  by  mental  individualism.  They 
abound  in  quaint,  abrupt,  angular,  and  forcible  ex- 
pressions. One  sometimes  trembles  for  the  writer, 
to  see  what  is  coming  next.  In  reading  some  of  his 
letters,  one  would  be  ready  to  infer  that  Satan  had 
provoked  him  to  madness,  and  that  the  duty  of  min- 
isters now  in  warring  against  sin,  was  that  of  Milton's 
angels,  to  make  bona  fide  war  .with  him,  and  unseat 
the  mountains  and  hills,  with  all  their  shaggy  tops, 
and  employ  them  as  missiles.  Others  would  infer  the 
presence  of  too  great  a  degree  of  biliousness,  and  would 


REV.    B.    F.    CRARY.  461 

attribute  to  the  writer  a  constitutional  acerbity. 
Nothing,  however,  is  farther  from  the  truth  than  all 
this.  Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  an  apparently 
imprudent  author  is  found  to  be  one  of  the  most  pru- 
dent of  men.  What  he  has  yet  written,  therefore,  is 
to  be  considered  rather  the  scintillations  of  a  power 
that  would  soon  grow  sufficiently  grave  and  cautious 
with  the  proper  responsibility.  His  name  was  asso- 
ciated, at  the  last  General  Conference,  as  editor  for 
one  or  two  of  our  principal  Church  papers.  We  do 
not  believe  that  he  -would  have  disappointed  his 
friends,  and  as  he  has  a  long  career  before  him, 
should  a  merciful  Providence  spare  his  life  and 
health,  (his  health,  we  believe,  is  very  near  perfect,) 
he  may  yet  be  needed  for  these  posts  of  weighty  re- 
sponsibility. If  he  demean  himself  aright,  and  de- 
light in  such  a  calling,  he  may  well  afford  to  bide 
his  time  without  any  dangerous  risk.- 

In  that  great  cause  of  reform,  the  temperance 
cause,  Crary  has  labored  long,  with  a  steady  and  un- 
compromising zeal,  and  the  distiller  and  vender  both 
hate  and  have  learned  to  fear  him.  They  would 
respect  him  if  this  type  of  human  nature  did  not  gen- 
erally degenerate  so  rapidly  as  to  become  incapable 
of  respecting  merit  and  worth.*  In  sociability  of 
habit,  Brother  Crary  is  ardent,  warm,  communica- 
tive, unsuspecting.  He  speaks  plainly,  without 
dreaming  of  giving  offense,  and  receives  the  same  in 


462   GENERAL  CONFERENCE  TAKINGS. 

return  even  with  interest,  without  taking  offense 
Nor  is  he  wanting,  in  any  sense,  in  the  manners  of 
the  true  gentleman,  especially  the  true,  whole-heart- 
ed Hoosier  gentleman,  the  best  type  of  a  man  purely 
Western  that  ever  lived.  As  a  friend,  he  is  confid- 
ing, generous,  and  true  as  a  mathematical  problem. 
He  finds  it  not  in  his  heart  to  forget  you,  because  he 
does  not  frequently  see  you,  and  you  lose  not  his 
sympathies  by  absence.  While  the  name  of  no 
brother  is  allowed  to  suffer  reproach  knowingly,  in 
his  presence,  the  name  of  his  friend  he  wears  upon 
his  heart,  which,  like  the  jewel  upon  the  bosom  of 
beauty,  must  be  kept  bright. 


REV.    R.    S.    RUST,    A.M., 

OF     THE     N  E  W-H  AMPSHIRE     CONFERENCE. 

"  No  enthusiast  ever  yet  could  rest, 
Till  those  about  him  were  like  himself  possess'd." 

THIS  brother  is  marked  physically  among  his  breth- 
ren on  the  floor  of  the  General  Conference,  while  he 
makes  his  mark  morally  about  as  certain  and  deep 
as  any  other  man.  His  height  is  below  the  ordinary, 
and  yet  he  is  not  a  little  man.  His  head  is  covered 
with  a  large,  bushy  mass  of  gray  hair,  obstinately 


-  v?       REV.    K.    S.    RUST.  468 

inclined  to  stand  up,  and  it  does  bristle  and  bob  in 
every  direction.  He  is  a  man  who  never  wearies, 
and  it  seems  as  unnatural  for  him  to  keep  still  as  it 
is  for  bruin  in  his  native  forest.  You  may  always 
see  him  in  the  conference  room,  as  he  is  one  of  those 
appearing  men  that  no  one  can  help  seeing.  At  this 
moment  he  is  struggling  for  the  floor;  and  though,  as 
respects  alertness  in  diplomacy,  Brother  Rust  need 
yield  to  but  few,  yet  he  is  unsuccessful  this  time. 
His  whole  system  seems  to  pulsate  under  the  disap- 
pointment. He  wishes  to  speak  for  his  conference, 
the  New-Hampshire,  the  delegation  from  which  he 
leads.  We  are  at  this  moment  watching  his  gray 
and  well-formed  head,  and  his  really  intellectual 
countenance,  as  the  one  is  drooped  in  despair,  while 
the  other  burns  with  indignation.  It  is  really  amus- 
ing to  watch  these  unconcealed  demonstrations  of 
iisappointment.  It  is  but  characteristic  of  the  man. 
Eis  heart  is  always  upon  his  lips.  His  frankness 
jonverts  him  into  a  transparency.  But  if  disap- 
pointed, as  he  was,  in  the  privilege  of  making  one  of 
die  speeches,  (and  had  he  been  thus  privileged,  his 
speech  would  have  been  one  of  tfem,)  he  is  found 
availing  himself  of  all  social  opportunities,  of  all  op- 
Dortunities  in  caucus,  to  carry  his  favorite  measures. 
Indeed,  we  never  saw  one  better  adapted  to  the  duties 
.>f  those  kind  of  meetings  called  caucuses  than  did 
Brother  Rust  seem  to  be.  If  the  meeting  at  times 


464   GENERAL  CONFERENCE  TAKINGS. 

became  tumultuous,  he  was  cool  and  collected,  seek- 
ing to  bring  order  out  of  confusion,  while  at  all  times 
his  remarks  would  be  characterized  by  good  sense 
hugely  strong,  and  his  address  dignified  by  urbanity 
and  all  the  graces  of  the  gentlemanly  polemic. 

Brother  Rust's  age  is  about  forty,  and  though  his 
hair  is  far  too  gray  for  his  years,  yet  he  obstinately 
refuses  to  be  classed  among  the  "fathers."  He  gradu- 
ated at  the  Middletown  University  in  1841,  and  im- 
mediately engaged  in  teaching,  first  as  principal  of 
Ellington  Seminary,  and  afterward  as  principal  of 
the  High  School  at  Middletown.  In  1844  he  joined 
the  New-England  Conference,  and  was  stationed  at 
Springfield.  He  was  soon  transferred  to  the  confer- 
ence of  which  he  is  now  a  member,  and  appointed 
principal  of  the  New-Hampshire  Conference  Sem- 
inary, where  he  remained  five  years,  giving  almost 
universal  satisfaction.  As  an  educator,  Brother  Rust 
has  won  a  most  enviable  distinction  in  the  State  of 
New-Hampshire.  He  received  the  appointment  of 
State  School  Commissioner  for  three  successive  years, 
in  which  responsible  post  he  rendered  very  high  satis- 
faction, his  reports  being  reputed  superior  to  anything 
with  which  the  state  had  been"  furnished  on  that  sub- 
ject, the  secular  papers  speaking  of  them  as  being  ably 
and  elegantly  written,  and  including  in  their  embrace 
many  matters  overlooked  by  his  predecessors.  At 
the  close  of  the  five  years  during  which  he  was  de- 


REV.    R.    S.    RUST.  465 

voted  to  the  work  of  education,  Brother  Rust  returned 
to  the  regular  work  of  the  ministry,  and  has  since 
filled  some  of  the  most  responsible  stations  of  his 
conference.  As  a  preacher,  he  is  forcible,  earnest, 
sensible,  and  always  evangelical.  He  does  not  startle 
by  his  brilliancy  nor  lose  one  in  his  profoundness,  but 
he  talks  with  such  sweet  good  sense,  discourses  with 
such  a  lovely  simplicity  on  the  incomparable  themes 
of  the  pulpit,  that  he  will  never  want  hearers,  always 
have  his  full  share  of  admirers,  and  stand  out  as  a 
model  of  the  class  of  preachers  to  which  he  belongs. 
He  preached  last  Sabbath  in  this  city;  and  though  it 
was  not  our  pleasure  to  hear  him,  conversing  with  a 
friend  who  did,  he  spoke  of  the  effort  as  being  quite 
equal  to  the  best  he  had  heard  at  the  General  Con- 
ference. We  regret,  however,  to  learn  that  he  has 
fallen  into  the  habit,  owing  to  his  very  ready  facility 
as  a  writer,  of  often  reading  his  sermons.  We  must 
ever  regard  the  pulpit,  and  especially  the  Methodist 
pulpit,  as  surrendering  her  highest  powers  when  a 
manuscript  comes  between  it  and  the  people.  The 
preaching  of  a  sermon  is  not  a  literary  performance, 
a  literary  entertainment.  It  is  conversation  with  the 
people  about  that  which  pertaineth  to  eternal  salva- 
tion. 

We  scarcely  know  why  we  have  thus  extended 
this  sketch.  It  is,  perhaps,  because  the  man  of 
steady,  hard  work  is  always,  to  our  mind,  a  specimen 


466       GENERAL    CONFERENCE    TAKINGS. 

of  moral  beauty.  We  always  love  to  work  in  causes 
good  and  noble,  and  the  working  man  was  always, 
to  us,  a  congenial  spirit.  It  is  not  the  flashes  of 
genius,  nor  any  special  gift  of  talent,  that  has  ele- 
vated the  subject  of  this  sketch  to  the  enviable  posi- 
tion he  occupies  in  the  Church  and  in  the  world,  as 
a  preacher,  ecclesiastic,  and  educator.  It  cannot  be 
said  of  him  he  is  a  man  of  genius  or  profound  talent. 
He  possesses  enough  of  both,  which,  by  the  aid  of 
another  quality  we  shall  mention,  have  made  the 
man:  enthusiasm^  a  warm,  gushing,  restless  enthu- 
siasm, one  that  works  in  self-defense,  toils  in  self- 
indulgence,  and  inspires  those  around  him  with  a 
similar  spirit.  There  have  always  remained  for 
Brother  Rust  talent,  genius,  enthusiasm,  but  the 
greatest  of  these  is  enthusiasm. 


THE     END. 


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